


We Found Love (In A Hopeless Place)

by TalesFromPerdition



Series: We Found Love [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Use, Explicit suicide attempt, Language, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Multi, Prostitution, References to Suicide, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 405,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesFromPerdition/pseuds/TalesFromPerdition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam Winchester struggle to survive when their alcoholic father abandons them. Castiel Novak has turned to drugs in his own father's absence. As their lives spiral out of control, can their new friendship save them, or will it be a catalyst for destruction?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yellow Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: If you somehow managed to stumble upon this fic and it is your first time reading, please keep the following things in mind. This fic is rough. It's 90% angst. There are a lot of things that could trigger a person - excessive/explicit drug use, very explicit suicide attempt(s), representations of (various) mental illnesses - so please, before you read this, make sure you are prepared for it. I would hate to trigger someone into any sort of action. However, I promise that this story has a happy ending. Use your discretion. And if you do choose to get invested in this epic, good luck. =) There are some cute moments among the angst.
> 
> My beta is the lovely BowtiesAndDeductions.
> 
> My tumblr is talesfromperdition.

 

**Chapter 1: "Yellow Diamonds."**

  
_"Yellow diamonds in the light_  
_Now we're standing side-by-side_  
_As your shadow crosses mine_  
_What it takes to come alive."_

Dean Winchester tried to bury his head under his blankets, but nothing could stop the pounding of the beat from echoing in his skull. Every morning, he wished he kept his alarm clock on his bedside like a normal human being. By the time he hit the third line in the song, he had pushed back his covers and was padding over to the other side of his room. If he didn't keep his alarm clock there, he would never get up in the morning.

Spared of Rihanna's catchy-as-hell chorus by his hand slamming the off button, he began searching for something to wear. Luckily it was the first day of school. This meant that nobody would know what he wore yesterday or any other day this summer. It could be weeks before he'd have to do laundry if he avoided sweating a lot. He threw on a pair of jeans from the floor by his TV. At the foot of his bed, he spotted a solid olive t-shirt. After sniffing it to make sure it was alright, he threw it over his head. On his way out, he grabbed a blue button-up and threw it on.

He walked out the door, slamming it behind him as he made quick strides down the hall. Dean's mornings were always a rush, but the few seconds of peace he let himself receive came outside this doorway every morning. If he paused long enough to let his little brother finish a good dream, it would be worth it. Every second counted though, so with a sigh, Dean knocked twice on the door before pushing it open.

His little brother was tangled in his blankets. His frame was getting lankier and more awkward by the day, it seemed. It wouldn't be long before the small boy would be taller than his older brother, and probably everyone else in the school. Dean sat at the foot of the bed, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. Instantly, as though some immediate threat was recognized, Sam's eyes shot open and he sat up.

"Shower, now, Sammy. It's your first day of high school."

The panic drained from the younger's face as his eyes glanced at his brother. A hint of a smile played on his face. He punched at his older brother halfheartedly.

"Come on. I'm a _freshman_ in high school, now. Stop with the Sammy crap."

Dean's response was to put his hand on the side of his younger brother's face. It was a gesture awkward to most brothers, but the Winchesters weren't a typical family. Sam, in attempt to be normal, swatted his brother's hand away. But Dean knew the younger appreciated the affection they didn't get from their long-since dead mother and completely absent father.

"Shower, Sammy."

This time the younger scooted out of the room without protest. Dean sat in the small room – more of a closet than a bedroom – for another few seconds before he went downstairs to make breakfast for them both.

* * *

 

  
_"Shine a light through an open door_  
_Love a life I will divide_  
_Turn away 'cause I need you more_  
_Feel the heartbeat in my mind."_

Castiel's eyes shot open, feeling his pupils getting smaller to adjust to the light room. He didn't shut the blinds last night, apparently. The sun broke the glass barrier of the window with no problems; dust danced in the light just above his head. He glanced up to admire the halo of particles before glancing at himself: something didn't feel right.

One hand was gripping the sheets, the other the bedpost. It took him a few seconds to flex his stiff fingers to life and a few more to get the cramped arms to move. His head fell to the side, wide eyes fixing on the alarm clock at his bed. Everything was spinning and he couldn't tell if he liked it or not.

He heard the knock on the door, and he bolted upright. His shirt was plastered to his chest. Once he raised his hands to his face, he found a layer of sweat still upon his forehead. A second later the door opened and Castiel closed his eyes, still in the process of guessing which brother would be on wake up duty. It was a game he liked to play, but it was ruined when he heard the voice and knew it was Raphael.

"Castiel, get up. It's your first day of school and Heaven forbid you get detention for being late already," The skinny man said as he strolled over to the bedside and hit the power off on the alarm clock. The younger brother could do nothing but stare; he hadn't even heard the song playing. Slowly, he worked up the momentum to move his body. His feet hit the ground in an attempt to get the room to stop spinning.

"Are you even awake in there?" Raphael snapped his fingers in his younger brother's face, and the delayed reaction should have been the three hundredth or so time that one of the Novaks noticed something was… off with Castiel. No such luck. Instead, the older brother gave another gruff command and walked out of the room.

"Hurry up, before someone else takes your shower spot."

Instead of hurrying to the shower, Castiel hurried to shut his door, and then hurried to his dresser. He was the only one – besides his oldest brother – with his own room. He wasn't quite sure how that happened, but he had done wonderful things with the privacy and trust his brothers had in him. He unplugged his phone from the charger and tapped the phone app, clicking then on the only number he had added to his favorites. The boy only needed to hear the phone ring twice before a chipper voice answered.

" _Good morning, my angel,"_ Castiel felt the smile creep onto his face, despite how poorly he felt and how desperately he fished through his dresser to pull out three different prescription bottles. He lined them up, adjusting them slightly until they were perfectly straight with their labels pointing out.

" _Things are going really well up here. I know it's been really hard on you boys with your father gone, but luckily I was always the one who made the money, huh?"_ His mother laughed. Castiel could feel her with him, as if she were in the room with him. He imagined her tossing her head back, red curls dancing behind her. She looked far younger than she was. People always doubted she was old enough to have a son his age, let alone the age of his older brothers.

Castiel looked closely at the pills in front of him. Although the labels were for anti-depressants, anti-anxieties, and painkillers, only two bottles held the actual prescription drug. He still had half a bottle of Xanax and three-fourths of an almost expired prescription for Percocet. Months ago he tried to take all the anti-depressants at once, and they had long since been gone in favor of others.

" _I think I'll have a deal with them soon. They said to me, 'Anna, you sure drive a hard bargain,' and they're going to sign the papers today, I think."_

Castiel tried to remember what pills he put in the bottle, but upon further inspection, they were all mixed in colors and shapes. He was pretty sure they were all stimulants though. It made the decision easier... the last thing he wanted to do was waste Ecstasy in English class.

" _Castiel, if this deal goes through, I could come back home and spend more time with you and your brothers. We would never want for anything again. Anyway, you have to get into the shower before Gabriel steals it from you. I love you, Castiel. May the Lord be with you."_

In his head, Castiel thought _'and also with you,'_ but couldn't vocalize the prayer. Regardless, his mother chuckled – she always understood his aversion to talking and seemed to understand him without words. She gave another farewell, and the boy heard the line go dead.

He grabbed a Xanax and popped it in his mouth. Hiding his stash, he walked to the bathroom just in time to get smacked on the back by Lucifer as he walked out with a towel around his waist.

The dark-haired boy stripped of his stiff, sweaty clothes, and turned the hot water on. Xanax had an unusually quick release time for a pill. Soon, it would fix the chemical imbalance in his brain to make him calm and happy. But the moments of consciousness without the chemicals providing stimulation to his brain were torture. He was well aware that his brain had stopped producing the chemical naturally – it would take a week of intense withdrawal for his body to make it again.

He felt nauseous and depressed. He stepped in the shower and crouched down, bringing his arms around his legs and hiding his face in his knees.

It was fetal position or risk passing out and falling.

He swore he felt each individual drop of hot water collide with his back, hundreds of thousand tiny pinpricks jabbing him and scraping down his spine. He gripped his knees tighter and rocked forward on his toes, then back on his heels, trying to calm himself down. Soon enough, the pills kicked in. He stood on shaky knees, arms stabilizing him on either side of the shower. He tipped his head back, letting the comforting waterfall cascade around him.

The water plastered his hair to his forehead, and he smiled into it. A wonderful, dazzling, crazy, drug-induced smile. He closed his eyes and almost convinced himself that he really was outside under a waterfall.

* * *

Dean had his back to the stairs but heard his brother stampede down them. He turned to place the scrambled eggs in front of his younger brother as the other sat down. Over the summer, Sam had asked Dean what he thought about long hair. As the elder had always kept it short and spiked, he told Sam what any older brother would say: long hair looks douchey.

Sam decided to grow it out anyway. Maybe when it got longer it would look better. Now, it stuck to the sides of his face – did he even try to dry it when he got out of the shower? – and he had to keep pushing it out of his eyes. Once it dried it would curl a bit, and it would get shorter.

Honestly, though, Dean didn't care what Sam looked like. No matter what, he would always love his little brother.

"So," Sam had already inhaled half his plate, "senior year, huh? Big man on campus."

"I suppose," Dean sat down, but didn't have any food. He gave Sam the last two eggs and pieces of toast. They'd have to go shopping after school if they could find some money.

Sam handed over a piece of toast. Dean tried to push it back, but Sam shot him a look. The elder brother took a bite, defeated. "So what's that like?"

Dean shrugged, thankful he had something in his mouth that prevented him from talking. He worked part time at the mechanic shop down the street. He didn't have the heart to tell Sam that graduating only meant full-time, which meant more money for food. College wasn't an option; it never really had been. Dean was a solid C student. His success would be measured in terms of what Sam did after graduation, not himself.

"You going out for football this year?"

Dean sighed, "Sammy, you know all team based sports are stupid. Unless you want to join a sport, then it's cool." Sam made a face, but whether it was too the name or the corny response, Dean didn't know.

"Any girls you wanna bang?"

Dean shrugged, "None left."

"Dean!"

"What, it's true."

The Winchesters sat comfortably in silence for a few minutes until Sam finished his food. He took it to the sink and washed it; if he didn't do it now Dean would just have to do it later. Over the water, he asked quietly, "Have you seen dad?"

Sam wasn't sure if Dean didn't hear him or was just ignoring the question, but he let it drop.

When Sam turned the water off, Dean was waiting by the door. He held out Sam's backpack, but he himself carried nothing. No pens, no notebooks, no anything. "One goal I do have this year is to finish up the restoration on the Impala. That way we don't have to walk thirty minutes to school every morning."

Sam nodded and smiled. Dean had been restoring that Impala since he was sixteen. He never had money for parts. True, Sam hadn't seen it in two years, but he had to assume it was hardly more finished than it was when he brought it back behind Bobby's shop where he worked. Regardless, it was nice Dean had something to look forward to doing. Sam was glad his brother had something that made him happy.

* * *

Castiel shaved for what seemed like the first time in forever. He was surprised to see what a smooth face could do. He didn't look like a hippy stoner anymore, and Castiel was certainly not a hippy. He finished just in time; Gabriel pushed through the door without knocking.

Gabriel tried to make a joke as he walked past. Castiel laughed, but it was just the motions, and he walked downstairs.

Raphael had made breakfast for them all. He had graduated sometime in the past few years – Castiel could name his brothers in order but not by age (other than those directly around him). He thought about it for a second. Could he still do it? He put his hands in his pocket and felt the baggy hiding in there. Another Xanax and three Percocets. The painkillers made him vomit – he must be allergic to something in them – but the class D felony drug was a sick bargaining tool for something greater.

Plus, if he needed to get out of something, Percocets were like clockwork for him. Ten minutes and he'd be a sobbing, puke-covered mess on the floor. He had to be careful, though, because certain painkillers messed with his fragile brain-chemistry. Once he took a Vicodin and he came to three hours later with a bandage on collarbone. Gabriel had found him in the bathroom, carving some sort of pentagram into his chest, screaming about getting the demons out of him.

The thirteen year old was too afraid of what it might mean for his brother if he told. They didn't talk about it after that first time. And there hadn't been any real permanent scaring, just a crudely carved circle that could have been from anything.

What was he doing again? Oh yeah, his brothers.

Zachariah was the oldest, twins Uriel and Raphael next. They were all graduated. This year, the high school roster included the other set of twins, Michael and Lucifer, as seniors, himself as a junior, Balthazar as a sophomore, and baby Gabriel as a freshman.

Uriel and Zachariah were either sleeping or at work and Gabriel was in the shower. Michael and Lucifer sat side by side completely silent and agitated. They were either perfect cohorts or die-hard enemies depending on the minute, and Castiel guessed it was enemies today. Balthazar wasn't eating, but he was fidgeting with something electronic. Probably some prank for him and Gabriel to pull off on the first day.

Cutting into his waffle with his fork, Castiel thought about how great it would have been if he were close to any of his brothers. They all paired off – except him and Zachariah – and their age difference kept them apart.

He thought about how cool it would be if someone else could feel the way he did at his best. How he felt with a beat synchronized to his heart, losing control of his body in the pureness of the music. Maybe he should have grabbed the Ecstasy.

Gabriel bounced down the hall and into the kitchen and started fixing his pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream and a cherry. How was that kid not seven hundred pounds?

He hardly had time to shove it down, before Michael and Lucifer silently decided it was time to go and cleared their plates. Somehow, from the time they made it from the kitchen sink to the door, they were friends again. They were punching each other and laughing. Gabriel and Balthazar made it out the door before him, hunched over the electronic thing, up to no good.

Castiel put his plate and cup in the sink and headed for the door. Raphael stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. The smaller boy felt every neuron explode on his skin under the hand. He opened his mouth – to yell out in pain or in delight he wasn't sure – but quickly shut it again.

Raphael looked troubled, like he had something difficult to say, and Castiel swallowed hard. His hands went to his pockets, fisting the baggie full of pills to keep them from showing at all. He closed his eyes, thinking about the drugs in his room, the hundreds of little pills hidden everywhere. He tried not to think about his kit in his backpack.

"Here," Raphael put his hands in his pocket, taking out a five dollar bill and handing it to his younger brother. "If your blood sugar gets low, buy a Gatorade or something, yeah? You got your bag in your backpack?"

Castiel nodded, pocketing the five dollars. Five dollars wouldn't get him anything but food. Maybe he would spend it on what his brother intended him to.

"Listen, Castiel. I know it's been hard for you this past year. I mean, learning about your diabetes the same year dad left. Your back pains, your anxiety from worrying about it all," Castiel masterfully suppressed the maniacal smile he felt rising from within. A rich Christian kid from a well-respected family could get anything from a psychiatrist after an hour of research on WebMD.

"You got to learn to trust others again, though, brother. Try to make some friends this year."

Castiel nodded again, but felt himself break eye contact with his older brother, suddenly deflating. His chest was far safer to stare at. Castiel was a firm believer that someone couldn't tell if he was lying as long as they weren't making eye contact.

He could lie about the drugs – he _had_ been lying about the drugs for almost a year now – and he lied about everything. But he couldn't, for some reason, lie about his lack of human companionship. He lost the ability to speak to others around the time their dad left. He could hardly even talk to his brothers.

People made fun of the way he talked. The drugs helped a lot, but he still couldn't bring himself to speak unless spoken to. And even then, gestures got him out of most conversations.

Feeling his brother's hand leave him, the younger scurried from the house. His four brothers were already half a block ahead of him. Even if he were with them, they wouldn't speak to him. He was fine with that. Honestly. He had the only friend he needed. In his pocket he had four friends and in his diabetic bag that he bought off eBay he had another. What was in his insulin bottle was definitely _definitely_ not insulin.

* * *

Sam was hungry again by the time they got to the school, and Dean knew the younger boy was trying really hard not to let it show. From walking to school, he knew he had some change in his pocket, but doubted he had a dollar. If he did, he would have spent it at the machine at work.

There wasn't a line at the vending machine when they reached the center lobby of the school near the gym. He scooped up the change from his pocket and started counting it. He had sixty cents; the cheapest thing in the machine was a bag of Fritos for seventy-five cents.

Dean met Sam's eye for a brief second before both looked down at the useless money. More students started filing into the lobby and in a second, they'd have to move or risk looking poor and foolish.

The elder brother noticed two guys he'd known since kindergarten walking in: Michael and Lucifer Novak. The family had money; they probably had a spare fifteen cents. Michael nodded to him but walked past. Dean was too proud to ask for handouts.

And apparently Sam was too. Two more Novaks – Dean wasn't sure their names – came up to him and chatted for a moment, using strange words and gesturing to something held in one of their hands. The rich boys couldn't tell the look of starving desperation, because both promised to see him during lunch and walked away.

Dean counted the money again.

"It's fine, Dean. I told you I wasn't hungry," Sam said, but his stomach gave him away with a rumble. Dean felt his teeth grit. It wasn't fair that their stupid dad was always gone. It wasn't fair he couldn't feed his baby brother. He rolled his hand into a fist. Sam thought he was going to punch something, so he put his hand on his brother's forearm.

Someone was using the machine behind him, but Dean still hissed, "I could probably steal something from the cafeteria for you."

Sam shook his head violently, and suddenly, Dean felt a hand rest gingerly on his shoulder. He turned around quickly, expecting to see a teacher there to reprimand him. The hand dropped, and instead he was looking across at another Novak boy: the quiet one. The boy looked like he regretted drawing attention to himself the second the older boy was glaring at him, and Dean tried to make his face soften so he didn't scare the guy.

It didn't really work.

Instead, in the awkward silence that fell over the three boys, Dean tried to think of the boy's name. On second thought, he was trying to make absolutely sure it was a Novak. None of them, even the twins, looked particularly like any of the other boys. Instead, others knew them because they traveled in packs. Dean could remember a young boy with dark hair hanging out with Michael at lunch or at the playground, but was this that boy?

His hair was longer, he thought. At least, Dean always remembered the boy with spiked hair. This guy was thinner – scarily thin – and his hair was pressed to his forehead. He had bags under his eyes, but Dean was sure he had the right guy. His eyes were too blue to be anyone else's, Novak or not.

Dean noticed he had a bag of Doritos and a bottle of chocolate milk in one hand. In the hand that had been on Dean's back, he had a few dollar bills folded together. He raised his eyebrows in a question and extended his hand toward the older Winchester.

Dean shook his head. He couldn't accept the guy's money.

The Novak looked at Sam, as if he were going to offer it to him, but decided against it. Instead, he took a step toward Dean and shoved the bills in the breast pocket of his shirt. He was walking away before Dean had recovered enough to realize what happened.

"Wait –" The Winchester called. The boy just waved a dismissing hand behind him and kept walking.

As soon as the Novak was around the corner, Sam grabbed the bills from his brother's pocket and fed one of them into the machine. He bought himself Doritos. He held the two bucks out to his older brother.

"Get yourself something, and with the other dollar buy something for him, M&Ms or Swedish Fish, something that if he doesn't take them you'll eat. As a thank you, you know?"

Dean bought himself some Fritos and pocketed the change, spending a dollar on M&Ms, though Sam's logic was flawed and stupid.

"I don't even know what Novak that is," Dean admitted. "How will I give it to him?"

"It's Castiel," Sam rolled his eyes. His younger brother had spent half the summer plotting with the youngest Novaks. If anyone knew anything about the secret religious cult that was the Novak family, it would be Sam. "I'm sure you'll see him somewhere." With that, the freshman was bouncing off. The older brother wished he had that sort of enthusiasm, but sadly, he lost the love of school around the time Sam was born – his first year of Pre-K.

Dean opened the Fritos and walked off to his homeroom, wishing had brought a backpack just so he wasn't carrying around a pack of M&Ms all day.

* * *

One time, Castiel's mother had to have extensive dentistry work done. She had been given Vicodin – hence the incident with the carving – and Castiel remembered the way she behaved while on it. It was during the last World Cup; soccer was the only sport Castiel followed even remotely.

Nobody ever watched it with him, which was fine, until his mom was on the Vicodin. She watched for a bit, asked questions about which team he wanted to win and who was actually winning, and by the time he looked back at her, lost in explaining the game, she was asleep. The buzz was too much for her.

Hence the appeal of Vicodin and the aforementioned realization that painkillers weren't his forte.

For a while, Xanax numbed everything. Right now he felt far too cognizant. He did his math homework for the next two weeks during the first day of notes on review work from trig. He was already in accelerated math – pre-calculus as a junior – but numbers just made sense to him.

By lunchtime, he couldn't deal with his compulsion to finish work. He found Crowley in the boy's bathroom, blowing out the smoke from his cigarette into the vents.

"Day one?" The British teen smirked. "Seriously, Castiel?"

He pulled the pills from his pocket and took out the Xanax, extending the Percocets to other boy. Crowley shook his head and passed them back.

"Tell you what, boy," Castiel dropped the Xanax back in with the Percocets, anticipating Crowley's deal. He put the pills in his pocket. "First day of school is stressful, yeah? Believe it or not, for me too." The British boy moved closer to Castiel. The younger didn't mind personal space violations and didn't flinch. "I'll give you a pristine rolled joint – hand rolled, of course, by yours truly – if you can make it worth my while." Crowley licked his lips for emphasis.

There is always that moment in an addict's life, when they realize what they're doing for a fix. This was not Castiel's moment. He glanced behind him for a second, before shoving Crowley into the handicapped stall, getting on his knees before him.

After all, he hardly called his desire for pot an addiction. It was infrequent that he desired that particular drug. And as he watched Crowley's angry face as he buttoned up his pants and blew out a thin line of smoke into the vent, he knew it was totally worth it.

The British teen let a slew of verbal insults grace his lips. Although directed at the younger boy, he wasn't offended. They were ones he'd heard from Crowley dozens of time. But Castiel just breathed in the sight of the other fixing his suit and tie, fixing his hair, and glancing over at him from the mirror.

The reason why this wasn't Castiel's moment of clarity was simple. He didn't blow Crowley for the drugs, at least not entirely. The satisfaction he got from frustrating the openly homophobic-closeted homosexual was far greater than the swelling of his lungs and brain with more chemicals.

Though, to be fair, it was really good pot.

* * *

Dean was going to have to drop out of school.

He wasn't sure how Sam was going to react, but there were hundreds of reasons why Dean would not be coming back the following day. The most important reason being that school was way too hard to suffer through for eight hours a day without getting paid. Money equaled food, which the Winchesters really lacked. Nay, lacking was the wrong word. They were starving. Dean ate his chicken patty like a starved dog and had probably been getting odd looks. At least if he worked at Bobby's full time, Sam wouldn't have to starve too.

And the classes were so useless and hard, and he was well aware he had the dumbed down schedule.

The thing was he may have survived just math. Math and Dean had never been friends, and he was just trying to pass the lowest level algebra test he needed to graduate. That he could deal with. Sam could help him learn algebra. He took the class in middle school last year. Unfortunately, he needed another science. After just barely passing biology and earth science, and scoring an A in forensic science last year, he only had a few choices left of what to take: AP Environmental (which he wanted, but didn't pass the placement test), physics (which was math on steroids), and chemistry (which he was stuck with.)

He sat at a table in the back and looked around the room. The periodic table, the glass beakers, the weights and scales, the emergency shower that should be pulled if someone was on fire or covered in chemicals… Dean knew it was too much for him. He thought about picking up his stuff and dropping out right there. But he figured he owed Sam at least one full day of school before he quit.

The bell rang and Dean was painfully aware that nobody was sitting at his table. There were an odd number of students and nobody wanted to risk being partners with the dumbest kid in the room. Great. Dean would either have to work alone and get nothing right or join a group and be a burdensome mooch. Great.

But just as the teacher was shutting the door, a kid ducked in. Dean was relieved to see he had a partner, but had mixed feelings when he saw the Novak – Castiel was his name? – moseying his way back to sit by Dean.

Their eyes met as Castiel sat down, but it took a few seconds too long for his partner to recognize him. Dean pushed the pack of M&Ms at the boy and whispered, "Thank you."

Castiel wasted no time in ripping the bag open and dumping them all out onto his syllabus that the teacher was currently reading through. Dean watched with voyeuristic fascination as the younger boy made quick work sorting the M&Ms into colors, and then putting each color in a row to count. He looked up at Dean, and the older boy thought of looking away. The dark haired boy held up a finger to get the other's attention, and drew a line down the center: blue, green, and yellow on one side and brown, red and orange on the other. He pushed the first set of colors toward Dean before popping an orange in his own mouth.

Dean could recognize that this was beyond weird. The guy was silent and all sorts of obsessive-compulsive. Then Dean noticed that the younger boy had opened his chemistry book to the page the homework was on. Popping in more M&Ms (all the orange, then back and forth brown and red until red was the last one left), he finished his chemistry homework before the class was half over.

Castiel met Dean's gaze and couldn't help the wide smile spread over his face. He knew the other boy didn't have a clue what was going on. He pushed his homework paper over to his lab partner, allowing him to copy. Dean jumped at the chance.

The younger boy leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He noticed his partner would steal glances at him; although, Castiel wasn't sure if it was because he was appreciative of the cheating, the view, or whether or not he was determining how completely stoned his new partner was.

Though to be fair, Castiel seriously doubted the last option.

* * *

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Dean pushed the paper back to Castiel. The boy smiled again and shoved it in his notebook before walking out. He was halfway down the hall when he felt a timid hand on his shoulder.

"Castiel?" The boy turned around. The other boy had his books cradled in his arms awkwardly, as if they were about to fall. Castiel nodded, looking up to meet Dean's eyes.

"My name is Dean Winchester," Castiel nodded and extended his hand. Dean shifted the books again to get his other hand free to shake. The older boy waited to for his lab partner to introduce himself but he didn't. Instead, he turned to walk away.

"Wait, Cas…" The smaller boy froze and turned back to face Dean. He saw the other boy smirk and could only assume it was in relation to the reaction Castiel had to the new nickname. He tried to relax his face, but Dean laughed aloud. "Whoa, if you don't like Cas, I can say the other two syllables."

Castiel shrugged to show his apathy.

Dean smiled again, running a hand through his hair. "So, I see that you don't talk…"

"I talk." This time Castiel grinned at the look on the other's face. Dean's eyebrows furrowed at the same time his eyes got wide. Castiel half expected his voice to break; he talked so infrequently that the first words out of his mouth usually sounded froggy. Fortunately, it didn't. Apparently Dean, like everyone else, wasn't expecting the deepness of his voice.

Suddenly Dean laughed. Castiel felt his face harden again – they always laughed, that's why he didn't talk – until Dean put hand on the other's shoulder and he patted it. Usually mocking wasn't paired with friendly physical contact. Castiel looked at Dean expectantly.

"That's great, man, because, listen," Dean put his arm around Castiel and led him down the hall. The younger boy noticed that Dean walked past the senior hallway, that he was walking Castiel to _his_ locker. "I appreciate the homework, I really do, but I'm never going to pass a test if I only ever cheat."

Castiel nodded.

"So, I was wondering if there was any way you could help me study. Or, I mean, we don't have to study together, if you don't want to talk to me or anything, but at least some pointers. You gotta help me out."

The younger boy frowned. He stopped walking, ducked under Dean's arm (causing Dean to fumble awkwardly over himself), and opened his locker. He had no homework, so he emptied his backpack of everything but the diabetic kit and threw it back over his shoulder. He shut the door and turned back, hoping Dean had forgotten that they were in a discussion, but apparently, Castiel was invisible to everyone but this Winchester guy.

Slowly, Castiel was formulating the let down in his head. He needed to offer the guy some words – shaking his head just seemed rude – but Castiel wasn't ready to have anyone at all in his life, even just a tutee. Tutees turned to friends, and friends meant nosy people who either tried to get you off drugs or tried to take them from you for themselves. Friends disapproved of everything Castiel liked to do and therefore, friends were out of the picture.

"Look," Dean stepped closer. Castiel stepped back and felt his backpack hit the locker. A flash of confusion crossed his face. He never had a problem with personal space. How did this guy get Castiel to step back? "I know that it's a huge burden for you. I never ask anyone for anything, but I really need to graduate this year." Dean wasn't looking at the shorter boy anymore. His eyes were at his chest.

"I don't have a lot of money, but I'll try to repay you. Is there anything I could help you with?"

Castiel stopped himself from shaking his head after half a turn. He was looking away. Later, if anyone asked Castiel why he did what he did, he would blame his actions on a couple of things. But right now, before years of reflection, he would swear that he didn't make a choice at all. It just _happened_.

Twenty yards down the hall Crowley was turning a corner. Somehow, the British teen could always pick him out of a crowd. For one brief moment, they made eye contact, and Castiel could see the different motivations and emotions swirling behind his dark eyes, the conflicting sexual tension. The desire to be with Castiel physically paired with the psychological hatred he had toward the way wanting him physically made Crowley feel.

For some reason, somewhere deep in Castiel's drug addled mind, it seemed like great fun to bait the violent, homophobic drug dealer.

Turning his attention back to Dean, he flashed him a smile. The other boy looked confused, then terrified when Castiel grabbed his hand and turned his wrist over so his palm was up. He took a pen from his pocket, and wrote down seven numbers in his palm. Dean looked up from the hand and peered at Castiel. The blue eyes flickered up to look into the green eyes opposite of him.

Dean felt like Castiel was trying to tell him something; he was just looking at him too intensely to be an innocent look. They were somehow sharing some sort of moment or something, but Dean wasn't that well versed in silence.

Castiel shot his eyes away for a second, to see Crowley walking behind Dean, eyes narrowed and dark.

Dean licked his lips, confused, but then smirked, "So, if I call you, will you speak back to me or will I be talking to myself?"

The moment shattered, and Castiel sighed aloud, dropping Dean's hand and rolling his eyes. He turned and walked the opposite way down the hall as Crowley. Dean smirked, taking that interaction to be positive, and walked down to the senior hallway to get rid of his junk.

* * *

Sam seemed to be done packing up his junk, but he was still in the freshman hallway. He was huddled together with Castiel's two younger brothers. When he saw Dean, he held up a hand to let him know he'd seen him, but to keep him far enough to way so the boys could plot without disruption.

Dean wasn't even mad.

He was only bringing home two books: his algebra book and some novel they were reading in English.

The boy gave a farewell to the Novaks and quickly fell into step with his brother. Sam was chatting happily about his first day back, his first day of high school. Dean responded with appropriate sounds and the occasional question.

Sam didn't ask Dean any questions about his day and whether or not he made any friends. At first, Dean had been excited to tell Sam about Castiel, about how he seemed to make friends with the brother of Sam's friends, but the more he thought about it, the more pathetic he felt about himself.

The boy had agreed to help study for chemistry. That wasn't exactly a friendship.

With each step he took toward home, he felt himself get angrier and angrier. And Sam, the stupid puppy, was still yapping. The worst thing about his brother was his total lack of attention to anyone but himself.

By the time the boys got to the front door, Dean was glad that he had to be at Bobby's shop in half an hour. His boss often got them pizza and beers if they finished up work early, and the pair of them would work on the Impala.

Bobby had always been the closest thing Dean had to a father.

Dean went to unlock the door, but noticed it was slightly ajar. All annoyance with his younger brother drained from his face as he entered big brother mode. He pushed his brother back and put a finger to his mouth. In one quick movement, Dean had a pocketknife out and armed. He pushed the door open with his left hand; the fingers on his right hand flexed around the knife.

There was no one in the living room or kitchen. He was about to climb up the stairs when he heard the toilet flush. He turned around and noticed Sam had followed him in. He shot a look at his brother and pushed him behind him once more, making his way to the bathroom door.

Dean thought about yelling, but then thought an ambush would work in his favor more.

He switched the knife around in his hand, to go from slicing quickly, to preparing for one deep stab. Counting to three, he tried to control his breathing. The door opened.

Dean waited to see his attacker before he pounced, but he wish he hadn't. Sam ran out from behind him, squealing in glee as he hugged the man around stomach. His brother always reverted to a child around the man. Dean sighed, folding the knife back up and putting it in his pocket.

"If you're going to come back, would you at least remember to shut the door all the way, dad?"

The man smiled at Dean, but the elder son stomped up the stairs to get ready for work.

* * *

When Castiel stumbled in an hour or so after school, he knew something was wrong. Zachariah was home, and the younger brother couldn't remember the last time he had seen his eldest in the house. He was wearing a business suit, and he was starting to go bald already.

He had one hand on his chest; his other hand was reaching up to the sky.

Uriel and Raphael both had their acoustic guitars out. Michael was drumming on a makeshift set of bongos. Lucifer was singing with his eyes shut. He had one hand raised, like Zachariah, the other clenching Gabriel's tightly. His younger brothers were singing, but tears were streaming silently down their face.

Someone had died.

Castiel felt his stomach and heart drop with his backpack. He made quick strides to join his brothers in the living room. He was surprised he cared this much, to be honest. He touched Zachariah's shoulder lightly, and when his brother turned around to face him, he was completely enveloped in his brother's secure arms.

Without knowing who it was or what happened, Castiel felt the tears erupt from his eyes. His hands clenched tightly to the back of Zachariah's shirt, and his brother put his chin on the top of his head, rubbing his back with one hand and his hair with the other.

Castiel wasn't sure when the hug stopped, but the next thing he knew, he had pulled his younger brothers up from the couch. They were holding hands and skipping in a circle, the way their parents had taught them as children to praise God.

He wasn't sure when he broke the circle and when Zachariah and Lucifer joined in. But he knew he was in the center of their dancing circle. And as they danced by them, his mind froze. Lost in the praise, his brothers had stopped crying. Lost in his own voice, he hadn't noticed that everyone else had stopped singing but him.

So he sang louder, raising his hands, lost in his high and the high of the music.

He stopped singing, and Michael stopped with the drums. Uriel and Raphael had slowed and quieted their guitars: background music to a prayer. Trained, the brothers stopped spinning, but let their hands clench tighter as they bowed their heads. Castiel put one hand on Gabriel's shoulder and the other on Balthazar's.

Zachariah's voice was raw. He had probably been singing and praising God long before his brothers returned home from school. "Praise our Heavenly Father!" He could feel his brothers murmur their agreement.

"You are truly the God most high, filled with love and adoration. And we will praise you forever." He paused, and Castiel felt a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for returning Castiel home so he could sing his praise as well."

It was strange, the feeling of recognition and love. In a family as large as his, he was often lost in the middle. He heard the key change from his brother's guitars, and knew they were playing his favorite song of praise. He turned to face Zachariah, and his body hugged his brother. He was moving as if possessed, but when he felt his eldest brother's arms wrap around him, he felt safe and protected. Whichever distant uncle or aunt died would be easily overcome through this sense of family and unity and love and trust in God. That's what their mother always told them, and Castiel had never really believed it until now.

"Please continue to keep our voices strong, as we praise you for the deliverance of our mother."

His brothers played him the cue – he should start singing – but he felt himself pulling back from Zachariah. Their mother... He felt more hands on his back. His other brothers were trying to support him, to catch him.

Castiel crumpled on the floor with a noise he had never heard before erupt from some place deep inside his stomach. He felt it rise, like bile, up his shaking chest, before escaping from his mouth. Then he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song on the radio is "We Found Love (In A Hopeless Place)" by Rihanna.


	2. Standing Side-by-Side

**Chapter 2: "Standing Side-By-Side"**

Castiel wasn't sure how long he had been out when he woke up, but that wasn't abnormal. What was abnormal was the form of another human sitting on the floor on the other side of his room. He was sitting on his legs, with his forehead against the wall opposite of the bed. One hand was on the wall, and the other was in his lap.

As one of the only Novak's with his own bedroom, it was incredibly rare for him to awaken with another body in the room. In the dark, Castiel couldn't even tell if it was one of his brothers, let alone which one.

He felt himself sit up, trying to see the figure more clearly. The movement caused the other man to turn around, and Castiel found himself even more confused: it was Lucifer. The boy most directly above him in age rarely spoke to Castiel. He babied Gabriel – they all did – and he fought with Michael. This seemed to be the extent of his interactions with the family.

The older boy saw Castiel's eyes open and crawled forward on his hands and knees to kneel by the bedside. He reached out and grabbed the one of Castiel's hands in both of his. He raised the hand to his lips before putting it to his forehead.

"Father…" he breathed.

Castiel remembered. He remembered what happened before he fell asleep. Their mother... He ripped his hand from Lucifer's as if it burned him. He scampered away from his brother, his back hit the wall and he would have tried to climb it if he thought it would have worked.

Lucifer was on the bed with him in a second, forcing his arms around his younger brother, trying to hold him. Unable to control his body, Castiel lashed out at his brother as if he were a feral dog. Lucifer pinned him to his body, taking the blows without wincing.

It only took a few moments for Castiel to wear himself out. He sobbed into Lucifer's chest and his older brother – just eleven months and some-odd days older than him – kissed the top of his head and comforted him.

It took far longer than a few moments for Castiel to untangle himself from his older brother, aware of how awkward their closeness would be at their age, even considering the situation. Lucifer propped the window over Castiel's bed open and offered his younger brother a cigarette.

In quiet murmurs, Lucifer instructed Castiel how to inhale – how it would probably burn and how he'd probably choke – and Castiel played the part that Lucifer wanted him to. This was the closest he had ever been to one of his brothers. If this meant pretending he'd never smoked anything, so be it. He coughed out the smoke, entirely for show, and appreciated it when Lucifer patted his back.

They didn't say anything for a while; they just stared out at the moon and stars. Although Castiel tried to rationalize it a few different ways, he didn't know why Lucifer was doing this with him. The older boy was never particularly close to their mother; at least, not that Castiel ever noticed. And he certainly was never close to his brother.

He flung the cigarette butt out the window, exhaled the smoke out the window, and leaned back against the wall, dangling one bare foot from the window. It was then he noticed Lucifer's black eye.

He reached out for it, stopping just shy of actually touching the bruise. Lucifer closed his eyes and tilted his head away from his brother, ashamed. Castiel tapped his brother's shoulder to get his attention. He opened his eyes, and the younger boy pointed to himself in question.

Lucifer shook his head. "Michael."

Castiel's hand hovered in the air, unsure of where to place it to comfort his brother. Lucifer seemed equally unsure of how to deal with affection, but he raised his hand, placing the two of their hands together.

Castiel received a static shock and pulled his hand back. Lucifer smiled, and Castiel couldn't help but to mimic the gesture.

"When Zachariah told you about mom, you just…" Lucifer stared at his hands in his lap. "You were screaming. It was like you were possessed. You were screaming about these demons and angels and… and… _mom_."

Lucifer dared to glance up at Castiel, and although the younger was aware that his brother was searching for something, Castiel couldn't help but notice how much he and Lucifer looked alike. None of the Novaks looked particularly similar, but the two of them had the same basic shape to their hair. True, Lucifer was blond and he had black hair, but it stuck up similarly when Castiel wasn't drenched in sweat and it plastered to his forehead. They both had blue eyes, though Castiel's were a deeper shade, but Lucifer's were definitely similar.

"Do you remember anything about that, brother?"

Castiel shook his head.

"When I… when I tried to… Michael, he…"

They were silent again, but Castiel noticed the shift in Lucifer. He seemed much younger, even though he looked far older than Castiel. He hadn't shaven – he didn't shave often – but the scruff worked for him. Lucifer stared at his hands like he had never seen anything as interesting in his life. Like he was trying to work through something in his head or like he was trying to figure out some way to talk about something hard.

But then Castiel noticed that his brother wasn't staring at his hands. He was staring at his wrists.

Castiel had never noticed before – he never paid close attention to any of his brothers – but he was pretty sure Lucifer always wore long-sleeved shirts. Scarred wasn't the right word to use for his brother's wrists. Something like "mauled" or "mangled" worked far better.

Most of them were healed, but significantly raised. They had been deep wounds. Others, he noticed, crossed in odd patterns, like carvings or words. He tried to get a closer look, but Lucifer looked up at him and turned his arms around, so his brother couldn't see it.

Lucifer's eyes were full of pain and confusion.

Castiel didn't know what possessed him to do it. He was still probably a little high. As sad as he felt about his mother's death – a sentiment that would be met poorly in his religious family that forced praise when curses seemed more appropriate – he knew that his brother was fighting demons far worse than his own. Maybe he appreciated Lucifer watching over him while he slept and felt the need to repay the favor.

Castiel put his right hand over his brother's arm. He didn't twist it to try and get a glance at the scars; rather, he just kept his hand resting there. Lucifer looked up at him, and Castiel wrapped his left arm around his brother's shoulders, pulling him into an awkward hug.

The younger brother tried to say something, but words didn't come out. They didn't seem to be needed. Lucifer clung to his body and his sobs shook them both.

* * *

As it did every morning, the alarm clock went off. Dean smelled his clothes before he put them on, and he paused outside Sam's bedroom before he knocked and entered. Unlike every morning, Sam wasn't in there. Panic started rising in the older brother until he heard pots and pans clanging in the kitchen.

He smiled, thinking Sam was trying to surprise him, until he heard talking and Sam's laughter. It was their father who Sam was trying to impress.

Though surprised was actually an understatement when his bare feet met the final step in the landing and he peered into the kitchen. It wasn't their father with Sam. It was the youngest Novak boys.

The youngest one was adding M&Ms to his pancakes in the pan and had a smudge of flour across his face. The other one was sipping coffee, but he was trying to hide a smile. Sam caught sight of Dean and excused himself. He pulled his brother onto their front porch.

"Dang, Sammy, your boyfriends can't seem to get enough of you. All dressed and around for a pancake breakfast before school?"

Sam smacked Dean, and the older brother flinched. It wasn't until then that he noticed Sam had tears welling up in his eyes. The older brother put his hand on the other's shoulders, frowning.

"Their mom died last night."

The news hit Dean like a bag of bricks. He peered through the window and saw the youngest boy sitting down with his food, talking animatedly with his older brother. They looked normal. "So what's with the chipper attitude?"

Sam shrugged, "They're really religious. Gabe said that when they got home from school their older brothers were singing songs of praise. They didn't know who died for like fifteen minutes after. They aren't supposed to show any negative emotion toward death."

Dean thought that was stupid. But he supposed that to the insanely devout, death was actually a great beginning. Still, what teenager didn't struggle with religion and faith? They seemed too happy for losing someone so important to them.

"Look, I know we don't have any money. I stole what I needed for the food from dad. He's still upstairs sleeping, but they came over here. I couldn't exactly turn them away," Sam said, and Dean didn't disagree. "So just be nice to them, okay?"

"When am I ever mean to anyone?"

"Well, you've been pissy all night. Look, dad's back. You have to deal with that," Sam poked him in the chest. "But like you always say, he'll be gone again soon. Let's just get some money from him if we can."

"Sammy, I like the way you think," Dean clasped an arm around his brother's shoulders. "But one more thing… Which Novaks are they?"

Sam just rolled his eyes and led Dean back inside.

* * *

Castiel's alarm clock woke him, but thankfully he shut it off before it could stir Lucifer. His elder brother had made a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows on the floor by Castiel's dresser. There would be no way to get to the pills without waking him. He did lean over his brother to grab his phone.

He dialed the number before he even thought about it. He had called his mother every morning.

He quickly pressed _end call_ , shoved his phone in his pocket, and he ran to the bathroom. He knew nobody was in the there – the boy who took a shower before him was passed out on his bedroom floor – so he burst in without knocking. He hardly made it to the toilet before he vomited.

Vomit wasn't a stranger in Castiel's life. The array pills he frequently ingested had negative effects on his body, not to mention the reaction he had to some of the other drugs, but this was a particularly hard spell. An appetizer of exhaustion, an entree of grief, with a side of Xanax withdrawal, and just an ice water to drink, thank you, hold the lemon. He thought about passing out over the side of the toilet or praying to God to get it to stop.

Eventually it did. It always came and went, after all, and Castiel got in the shower. He felt unusually sober, and unlike most days, he didn't completely hate the feeling. Hind sight was twenty-twenty, but he was really, really, glad that Lucifer was there when he woke up last night.

Like his brother, Castiel knew he had some suicidal tendencies and with the arsenal of drugs he kept everywhere, he could have easily accidently (on purpose) overdosed.

He probably owed Lucifer his life, if it was anything of value worth keeping. He wanted to make a note of it so he could repay him later.

When he got back into his room after he was dressed and clean, Castiel tiptoed toward his brother. He was on his back with his hands on his stomach. His face was scrunched, as if he were not resting well and the black eye was even worse than it had been the night before. Castiel wondered if he should wake his brother, but decided against it.

He walked down the hall to the kitchen and nobody was there. His brothers must have been sleeping in. Apparently, screaming and crying with grief was not a respectable response to the news that the woman who gave life to you has died. Apparently, it did warrant a day off of school.

On the fridge, there was a note:

 _Gone to Sam Winchester's home for breakfast before school._  
Love and God bless,  
Gabriel and Balthazar

Castiel sighed. There went any hope of breakfast. Well, maybe not. Usually, Castiel didn't assume, but how many Winchesters were natives of their town? The likeliness that Sam was not related to Dean was probably pretty slim, and Castiel remembered Dean's promise to repay him for chemistry. Perhaps this could be his payment.

Before he left, he sent a text to Lucifer. He would never have done that before, but he felt some need to let his brother know he was attending school, not simply ditching him. He scribbled his name under his brothers' on the note.

He looked through his contacts before hitting dial on his way out of the front door.

* * *

"So, Balthazar, are you British?"

Sam groaned, but Gabriel giggled with delight. Balthazar himself held his cool, apparently far more used to the question than Dean would have expected.

"Are you?" Balthazar asked.

Dean shook his head and stuffed a giant piece of pancake in his mouth. "Rut rai…"

"Chew and swallow, bro."

Dean did just that. "But I didn't grow up in Lawrence, Kansas my whole life and sound like I just moved here from Buckingham Palace."

Balthazar shrugged. "It's a speech impediment."

"A _speech impediment_? C'mon, kid. You happen to have a speech impediment that makes you sound like Mister Crowley?" Gabriel broke out in another fit of giggles, and Dean felt appreciated for once.

Balthazar just shrugged again, but hid another smile behind a sip of coffee.

Dean was about to start in again, but was interrupted by a cell phone going off. Gabriel leaned over to see the caller ID, before shooting a confused look at Balthazar.

"What?" Sam asked, stealing a bite of Dean's food.

"It's Castiel."

"So?"

"So have you met him? He doesn't talk."

"Not true," Dean pointed the form at Gabriel. "Just yesterday he told me that he talked."

"Verbally?" Balthazar asked.

Dean started in on the British thing again, so Gabriel answered his phone. "Castiel?" He paused for a moment, and then said, "Balthazar and I are at Sam Winchester's." Another pause and he shot a look at Dean. "Could Castiel come over?"

The older brother looked confused. "He asked to come over?"

"Not in so many – or any – words, but why else would he call?" Dean nodded and Gabriel gave his older brother the directions. He hung up with a sigh.

"So, not to be rude toward your family or whatever, but why doesn't Castiel talk?" Sam asked.

Balthazar shrugged. "He used to. Our dad just vanished last year. Doesn't return our phone calls. We're not even sure if he's alive. Then Castiel got weird. I mean, he's not the only one. Right before our dad disappeared Lucifer got really weird, but he evened out after dad left."

"You are an awful storyteller, Baley." Even Dean cringed at the horrid nickname. It didn't seem to bother the Novak boy, though. "The good part of the story is that last night, when we found out our mother was delivered, Castiel _lost_ it. I mean, I haven't seen him that bad since… well, that's a different story for a different time. But he was _screaming_ – like he was being tortured, I swear. It was intense.

"But the weird part came with Lucifer. He totally babied Castiel. Cradled him in his arms and carried him off to his room. Took some thrashes. Somehow, he got him to calm down in his room. But then he came back out and started talking all this crazy stuff. The older boys seemed to make some sense about it, though. It got heated. He was yelling at Zachariah about our dad and suddenly, Michael came out swinging."

On the edge of their seats, the Winchesters stared at Gabriel, who shoved another mouthful of food down. His eyes rolled back as it hit his ever-present sweet tooth and actually moaned into the pancake.

"Seriously, kid. What happened next?"

Gabriel tagged off, and the Winchesters focused on Balthazar. "Michael punched him in the face. I mean they fight almost constantly. Not sure why, but something happened a few years ago. They can hide it most days but Michael doesn't trust Lucifer at all. We don't know. We're the youngest and they don't tell us anything."

"Boring!" Gabriel chimed in. "So Michael swings at Lucifer, right? Hard. His head shoots back and he drops. Like, TKO right there. And we are not supposed to fight. I mean, one time Balthazar pushed me down a slide and I didn't even get _hurt_ and he got like hours of silent prayer time to meditate on what he'd done."

Gabriel didn't notice the glance the Winchesters gave to one another.

"So Lucifer is out, and we're all holding our breath. Like, I'm not even sure he's breathing, but I'm not going to break ranks and help him if this is what was best for the family – or so the elders would say – so we all look at Zachariah…"

"He's the oldest and he's been in charge since dad's been gone."

"… And he _pats Michael on the back_. I mean, straight up affection and praise. We don't get affection or praise in our house. I mean, after that Zachariah helps Lucifer, but he asked us to leave. We didn't hear what he said to Lucifer, but we didn't hear Michael and Lucifer's bedroom door open again all night."

"So Lucifer never went back to his room."

"We think he stayed in Castiel's room to look over him."

The doorbell rang. Dean jumped and Sam snickered uncomfortably, like he had jumped too but was trying to be brave about it. One guess as to who that was.

As Dean went to answer the door, he heard Gabriel's voice drop in volume for the first time all morning as he whispered, "Moral of the story? Our brothers have been left in control for a matter of hours and already we're falling apart."

* * *

Lucifer was aware of where he was as soon as he woke up. Usually, even waking up in his room with Michael, the boy was confused and disorientated. His eyes shot open to his phone vibrating on the hardwood floor next to him. He picked it up and read the message.

Castiel:Couldn't sleep. Went to school. Didn't want to wake you.

Lucifer kind of thought it was sweet that Castiel cared enough to even bother telling him where he was. He knew that the boy snuck out frequently at night – although he didn't know where he went or who he was with – but he hadn't ever made an effort to include his brothers in anything before now.

The boy had a crick in his neck, and his shoulder felt like it was on fire. He examined his body, but the pain was consistent with sleeping on a hardwood floor. He seemed to have refrained from hurting himself at all throughout the night.

Until he rubbed his eyes, completely forgetting about Michael's punch.

Lucifer gritted his teeth and wandered to the bathroom. His eye was already turning yellow. Normally, he would never go to school with a black eye. Or go on a day when he got no sleep. But he figured it was better than hiding in Castiel's room for hours.

He had to change into one of Castiel's shirts – he couldn't step foot in his own room after all – and noticed how tight it was on his chest. His younger brother was a little shorter than him, but he never noticed how small he was.

Then again, he was diabetic.

Lucifer didn't see the note on the refrigerator as he walked past. He had other things on his mind. He walked a block toward the school until he was sure he was far enough away so nobody could hear him. He pulled out his phone and pressed the only speed dial he had programmed. He sat down on a bench in the park under a tree.

It rang a bunch – five times, six, seven – until finally there was a click. It went to voicemail.

That was fine.

"Father, please forgive me for I have sinned. I am a filthy, rotten creature. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything, father. Please let me into your grace again. I just need to feel…" he paused, in search of a word, but one didn't come. "I need to feel, again."

Lucifer paused, as if someone would answer if he just gave enough time. "Look, father. Mom is dead. Doesn't that change anything? My brothers are… Michael hit me, father. And Castiel…" he hung his head. "I think Castiel is like me, father. And I don't know how to save him from it."

* * *

"Oh, well, hi there, Cas," Dean leaned against the door in what he hoped to be a cool guy pose. Castiel just stared at him. Dean smirked, "Well aren't you going to ask me to ask you in?"

Dean saw the other boy's eyes roll before he pushed past him. A step in the wrong direction left him confused, but he quickly found his brothers in the kitchen and Dean followed him in. Breakfast quieted down. Balthazar, Gabriel, and Sam chatted enough, but Dean sat on the couch near the window trying to make heads or tails of his algebra homework that was due in a few short hours.

He had planned on asking Sam for help, but he couldn't do that in front of his friends. He'd take the zero before the embarrassment.

He was so into the work that he didn't notice Castiel was near him until he felt the shift on the couch. The other boy had pancakes, but if there was one person in the world he trusted to not spill anything, it was the uber-genius.

Or are uber-geniuses klutzy?

After eating for a few minutes, Castiel felt Dean relax with the personal space violation and began peering at the homework. He had consistently gotten the answer to the problem wrong in every question. He sat his plate beside him on the couch before he reached in his backpack and took out his insulin case.

The pills from yesterday were still in there, thank God. The only negative side was that he only had one Xanax and the Percocets were completely useless. He took the Xanax without need of water. Dean was so into his problem, he didn't notice. Or at least he politely pretended not to notice. Castiel could respect him for either.

He found himself pointing at the line where Dean had written the original equation.

"What things to you find pleasant in life?"

Dean jumped and shot a nasty look at the silent boy. Castiel found he enjoyed surprising Dean with his voice. If this was the reaction he got, he may make an effort to vocalize more.

"You know, the usual stuff. Long walks on the beach, dinner and a movie, but I always hold out for the third date. I'm not that easy."

Castiel frowned, "No… I meant…"

"I know what you meant, Cas. It was a joke," The words had no malice in them, though. Instead, he tapped his pencil to his book in thought. "I like cars. And rock music."

Castiel stared at the problem for a minute, before looking up at Dean, appearing troubled. "I do not think I can relate algebra to your pleasures."

"You aren't the first."

"Perhaps, then, it would be easier if we created a step-by-step chart that you could follow when doing all problems like this," Castiel turned to a different page in Dean's notebook and placed it on his lap. He wrote down the first problem on Dean's homework assignment.

They worked together for a little while; Castiel was slowly building the scaffolding Dean would need to do far more complex equations. After they had determined a set of rules, he let Dean practice on his own while he continued to eat. He kept an eye on him, just in case he seemed stuck.

The entire thing was beyond bizarre to the youngest Novaks, which they quickly informed Sam of.

"Seriously, I wish I could tell you the last time I had heard him speak one word to anyone, let alone a whole conversation," Gabriel whispered.

"I think about three months ago he needed to borrow some money from me," Balthazar offered. "I wouldn't give it to him unless he asked with his big boy words."

"Three months, Samster!" Gabriel whispered. "Three months he hasn't spoken a single word to anyone in our family, and he's over there trying to explain quantum mechanics to your brother."

"I think it's just algebra," Sam said.

"Not the point. The point is what the hell is it about your brother that gets ours to act like a normal human being?"

Sam watched them for a little while longer. There was honestly nothing weird at all about the interaction. Somehow, Castiel got Dean to focus, and Dean got Castiel to calm down and loosen up. There was no subtext floating around that should have been, and maybe that was the weird part. Knowing Castiel freaked out yesterday, that he had lost his mother, and knowing that Dean was on edge because their father was asleep upstairs… knowing what should be there was what made the interaction weird because none of that stuff was there.

They just seemed focused at the task at hand and content with each other's company.

"They must be in love," Sam joked. The look on Gabriel's face caused him to regret his joke instantly.

* * *

It was far, far later in the day that Sam heard any workings of a plan, but he knew they were churning around somewhere under the slicked back hair of his best friend. When he was working on some plot, he always got quiet and distant. This was fine. It was half the reason Sam and Balthazar became such decent friends.

Balthazar and Gabriel were master pranksters; though, their success rate was so high because of each other. Gabriel had the smooth charm of a conman, and people naturally took to him. He had a silver tongue, and his words alone could get a person to change his thoughts about something that he had wholeheartedly believed in his whole life.

Sam had always been completely sure that nothing supernatural existed in their world. It took Gabriel less than half an hour to convince him otherwise.

But to say that Gabriel was the brains was entirely unfair. More so, it seemed like Gabriel was street smart to Balthazar's book smart. Gabriel could loosen a person up, but Balthazar was the one who brought Gabriel's inventions to life. He was a wizard with creation and kept a small arsenal under his bed. For the right price, he could easily become an arms dealer.

More than that, Balthazar was funny. Balthazar possessed Gabriel's sweet tooth, but not for chocolate or candy.

"How do you say 'twelve' in French?" Balthazar looked up from the black leather bound notebook that he sketched his inventions in. His blue eyes met Sam's but the Winchester shrugged.

"Shouldn't you know? Isn't England close to France?"

Balthazar shot Sam a mocking smile, and the other boy returned to his novel. The three of them were huddled together at a table in study hall. The study hall monitor was breathing a sigh of relief. All three of them had work to do, so they weren't trying to talk. Since they spent most of the time in silence, he seemed to not mind this disruption.

Gabriel didn't even look up from the paper he was scribbling on as he replied, "Douze."

"Right, but how do you spell that?"

Gabriel spelled it for him, and Balthazar wrote it down in his notebook.

"Are you in French?" Sam asked, knowing he would regret asking, but couldn't resist.

"No," Balthazar grinned. "I want to send out invitations to a party I'm having. Thought it would sound fancier in French."

Sam shot him a look.

"Don't even look at me like that, Winchester. You are certainly not invited. It is a ladies only party. I'm asking them if they would like to join me for an ménage à trois… only with eleven ladies and me. So a ménage à douze."

Sam just rolled his eyes. Balthazar's sweet tooth was for girls.

"Fat chance with that one," Gabriel still didn't look up. He paused, sticking out his tongue as he scribbled something down. "There's no way you could have eleven girls in your life, let alone all at once."

"I beg to differ, baby brother. With father gone and mother dead, it means the rules of our house cease to be, at least, if Zachariah doesn't catch us. And I want to do everything. Preferably, all at once."

Sam shot Balthazar a confused look.

"You wouldn't believe what is banned at our house," Gabriel finally put his pen down and looked up at the boys on the opposite side of the desk. "Basically it comes down to one simple, golden rule: 'if it's fun, you can't do it.' I mean the complete restriction of sugar was enough to drive a guy crazy! I didn't even know what I was missing until we went to the convenient store last night!"

"Gabriel will end up about three hundred pounds by the end of the month." Balthazar added.

"Anyway, _brother_ , the point of this story isn't about my dietary habits. The point is that you have never been with one girl, let alone eleven at once. I am officially doubting you."

Balthazar gasped as if he had been slapped. "And what about you, you baby? You have never been with a girl, either."

"I never claimed I had," Gabriel shrugged. "This isn't about me, Balthazar."

"But you think you would be more successful, don't you?"

Sam looked awkwardly into his book. He wanted to question how many kids their age had actually been with a girl, but the fact he had to wonder about it probably meant a lot more than he was aware of. When a person was a virgin, they assumed everyone else was a virgin, too. When they weren't, they looked at the world more… realistically.

Suddenly, he had a repulsive thought. Had Dean actually been with a girl?

Images of his brother making out with random girls flooded his head. Sam seemed to catch him with every girl before it went farther than that, but did that mean that it didn't happen? Sam didn't know why the thought repulsed him so much… maybe he'd just been hanging out with the Novaks too much. Until today, they never objectified women.

At least, not so graphically.

"Yes, Balthazar. You are right," Gabriel slammed his fist to the table. People were looking at them, even though Gabriel was spitting the words through clenched teeth quietly. "I am saying I could get laid before you do."

Balthazar extended his hand, to shake on their bet, but Gabriel sat down. It was strange the way his friend could shift and control his mood on demand. He looked down at his plan, and then grinned up at Balthazar.

"That challenge, I fear, is destined to be fought another day. In case you have forgotten, our primary objective is to get our dear brother Castiel laid, so he will finally get the stick out of his ass and be fun again."

Balthazar nodded his consent and closed his book, ready to listen to Gabriel's plan.

"Gabriel, I have to tell you that I was 100% joking when I said that they were in love. One, there is no way my brother is gay. I've seen him making out with, like, hundreds of random girls. I don't think he has ever even had any acquaintances that are boys."

"He just doesn't want to surround himself with temptation," Balthazar offered. Gabriel nodded.

"No, I mean it. And besides, friendship is one thing. Actually, a relationship would be one thing. But getting your brother _laid_ by my brother? We don't know if either of them are… um…"

"Castiel most certainly isn't getting laid," Gabriel stated. Balthazar flipped a few pages back in his book.

"We have made a list of which of our brothers have broken what rules, and Castiel certainly has never put his thing in anyone else." Balthazar's pen tapped against his mouth. He turned his eyes to look at Sam and grinned. It sent a mess of crow's feet dancing around his eyes. "Likewise, we don't think he's had someone else's thing inside him."

Sam shuddered.

"We think that maybe Uriel has, perhaps 40-60% certain, and about 75% certain that Lucifer has. Equally, we are 100% sure that Zachariah and Michael haven't," Gabriel summarized.

"But I mean, Dean…" Sam started.

Gabriel shot a look at Balthazar and wiggled his eyebrows. The older boy snorted and flipped back through his book to a page earlier. He pushed the open page toward Sam. It was a page full of names of girls from their school.

"The black names are claims," Balthazar said.

"A red check means it was verified by a reliable source," Gabriel chimed in.

"And even just the verified ones are a significant number without the including the hearsay."

"Fine," Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Okay? But either way, how many boys' names are on that list. I'm telling you. Dean isn't gay."

Balthazar took back his book and started flipping through it again. He left it at a blank page and looked up at Sam. "That may be true, but at this point it's a technicality. I mean, it's not like Castiel is the… manliest of men. I mean, he's kind of pretty, I think."

"But… he has the wrong parts! That's not something someone just gets over!"

"Challenge accepted, Sam," Gabriel grinned. "So tell us all the things you know about Dean so we can play cupid here."

* * *

Dean was overjoyed with how well he did on his algebra homework. He thanked Castiel but spent the entire Chemistry lesson trying to work though the notes and turn them from Greek into some sort of English he could understand.

From time to time, Castiel would look at his notes while taking a break from coloring whole sheets of paper with highlighter. The first page or two were mostly straight lines, the farther into the lesson, the more complex the designs. Dean figured they probably meant something huge and mathematical, but he couldn't see the pattern. The smell was starting to get to Dean – dizzy was an understatement – but Castiel seemed to enjoy it. And the constant swish-swish-swish reminded Dean that someone was next to him.

Once, Castiel stopped with his drawing. Dean stole a peek, but Castiel was staring at the whiteboard intently. His eyebrows angled in a frown, but his eyes got bigger. Suddenly, he shot a look at Dean, who shrugged.

Castiel picked up a blue pen from the table and took Dean's notebook. They were balancing equations. Honestly, the thing was far too close to algebra for Dean to have any real clue. Castiel made quick work of the problem in his perfect calligraphy script.

He quickly turned the page. He created some other problem, far more complex, and worked through it. It filled almost the entire page. When he was done, he sat back with a smile on his face. Dean just stared at him.

"This is interesting," Castiel whispered. Dean shot him another look of confusion. "I just learned something."

Dean felt a wide smile break out onto his face. Castiel noticed the genuine gesture – even pride, a little bit – and smiled bigger. When Dean reached out and ruffled his hair, he thought the smile would burst from his face.

Affection.

It was a nice.

* * *

Sam was waiting outside the class when Dean got out. He was pretty sure his brother had an end-of-the-day study hall, but he somehow must have weaseled his way out. How Winchester of him. Dean said goodbye to Castiel, who nodded first to Dean, then to Sam as he walked past.

Sam felt like garbage.

More than any other stress of high school, his best friends trying to find that delicate balance of being tricksters and menaces was wearing on him. And it was only the second day. He was supposed to gather all sorts of information about Dean and report back to his friends. It was funny when they dicked around with other people's lives, but it refused to play this game.

Dean had taken care of him his entire life. There is no way that he was going to mess with Dean's social life. That had always been their one rule.

On their way home, Dean chatted happily about his day and about Castiel learning something in school. The closer home they got, the more Sam got to thinking about the nature of Dean and Castiel's relationship. The most Sam had ever heard about any of Dean's random hookups was that the girl was hot, or that she was good, or that Sam needed to find himself a girl. Dean was chatting about who his friend was as a person.

That had to be a sign of friendship, not anything sexual, right?

They barely had time to blink when they got inside. Their father met them at the door with open arms. He had made some sort of dinner Sam could smell it from the foyer. He could feel Dean tense behind him, but he couldn't resist.

He hugged his father.

And he knew instantly that hugging his father was a far greater betrayal to his brother than trying to hook him up with another boy.

* * *

Castiel was surprised by his welcoming. Uriel and Raphael were not there, but Zachariah had been waiting for him in the living room. He greeted him with a prayer and a hug.

Then he sat him down and started asking him questions. Odd questions too. Like if he remembered anything about yesterday when he collapsed. He shook his head. He asked if he had ever had visions of anything strange before, and he shook his head. He was only lying to one question.

Throughout the third degree, something sickening dawned on Castiel. Their parents were gone. They were used to living a pretty wealthy lifestyle. Could his three eldest brothers support the rest of them financially?

Could they support his drug habit?

He forced himself to stay calm while Zachariah talked. Sometimes he wondered if his eldest brother thought he were simple, if not plain stupid. It bothered Zachariah, Castiel thought, that he didn't speak. However, it also made him feel like he trusted his gestures more.

Why would the simple boy lie about anything?

As if that was the case. Soon enough, he was free to go to his room. He shut it tight behind him, locking the door swiftly in one movement. He got on his knees before the door, dropped his backpack, and dug frantically through it. He pulled out his diabetic bag; his fingers shook as reached the bottle labeled "insulin."

Castiel made quick work of pulling off his jacket. He shoved the sleeve up his arm and tied the medical tourniquet around arm. If his brothers knew anything about diabetes at all, they would know that this was not the standard for diabetic's kit.

Waiting for his vein to pop, he studied the insulin bottle. The liquid had been replaced with morphine about four months ago. A vial of morphine was really expensive – he had only used less than a quarter of the tiny bottle in that time. It was for emergencies, when some pill wouldn't do.

He learned that he may never be able to afford expensive pleasures again and his immediate response was to waste what was left. He grabbed some rubbing alcohol and cleaned off his vein.

Castiel pulled the orange tip of the syringe from the needle with his teeth and carefully measured a small dose. He held the vial up to the window. He still had slightly more than half a bottle left. He sat the bottle back in his diabetic bag and held the syringe up to the light. He tapped it to get the air bubbles to go to the top and pressed up until the bubbles were gone and a small amount of the liquid squirted in the air.

He was surprised he hit the vein at all, what with how badly he was shaking in anticipation.

He breathed out in a sigh of relief as the drug painted his veins. He removed the syringe from his arm and tossed it in the trash – he had a whole mess of new ones in a box in his dresser – before grabbing a cotton swab and putting pressure on the vein so he could stop the bleeding and prevent bruising.

Lying on the floor, he watched the world start to swim around him. He noticed he was lying in almost the exact position that Lucifer had been just the night before. Somehow, it made him feel really close to his brother, his missing brother with the black eye and the scars on his wrist.

He loved Lucifer, maybe more than he loved any of his other brothers.

Castiel wasn't sure how long he allowed himself to lay there in euphoria, but he knew he needed to clean up. His diabetic bag was secured and placed back in his backpack. He got his clothes for tomorrow out. He even cleaned his room a bit. When this was done, he flipped through his iPod and plugged it into his stereo.

The music really spoke to him, even more so when he was high. He couldn't help but sing along. His body twisted and moved. He had always been aware that he was abnormally flexible. He couldn't control his body's reaction to the boom of the bass.

A few hours later, he realized he had a serious problem. As mentioned, there was always a moment in a drug user's life when he realize he had a serious problem. And debatably, this was the first time Castiel's realization would eventually lead to the end of everything.

He realized that he really liked the morphine. He wanted to do it more often.

Of course, it was very expensive. To get it from his usual supplier, he would have to potentially pay hundreds of dollars. Crowley knew someone who could steal the morphine from a hospital, but it took money changing more than one hand. Crowley would have to pay a supplier, who may need to bribe someone else. It would be far past exchanging Percocets or blowjobs for pot.

But Crowley had something pretty close to morphine for a lot cheaper.

Castiel decided to go to the bathroom before he left, and on his way back to his bedroom, he heard the front door open. Checking his phone, the boy determined it was eight o'clock. He kept his door open to see who it was.

When Michael came out of his room down the hall, Castiel didn't have to guess who it was.

Although the younger brother couldn't see either of the twins from where he stood, he imagined it like an old fashioned standoff between two desperados with guns. For some reason, Lucifer wore the white hat in his head.

Lucifer made a step past Castiel's room, so he could see his back. He was limping and there was something red stained to the fingers on his right hand. Castiel couldn't tell if it was ketchup or blood or paint.

Michael approached his twin, and Castiel saw Lucifer flinch his head to the side, but stand his ground. Lucifer closed his eyes, steadied himself, and turned his good eye to his brother. He turned the other cheek.

When Michael hugged his twin, Castiel got a good look at his brother and morphine made him shine, almost literally. Castiel was certain he saw a ray of gold around his head, but figured it was just the dusty light bulb and morphine playing tricks on him. Michael was handsome. His hair did not stick up like his or Lucifer's or Balthazar's. But it wasn't long enough to curl at the bottom like Gabriel or Sam Winchester's. He looked young and pure and… beautiful.

Michael may look the least like a Novak; he looked like a Winchester.

"I am sorry I struck you, brother." Michael was shorter than Lucifer, but he gripped him tightly. It took a few awkward moments for Lucifer to hug him back.

"Violence is never the answer," Michael continued. "We will work together." He pulled back, glancing at his brother at arm's length. His voice dropped to a hiss. Although Castiel's door was open, the other boys often forgot about him. It was amazing the secrets one could hear by becoming silent and invisible.

"We will find father, Lucifer. Together. He will forgive you of your sins and he will come back to us."

Michael must have tugged at Lucifer, because he took a step forward and almost disappeared from sight. In a split second, before he left his brother's view, Lucifer looked down and their eyes met.

His brother looked pained and scared, but happy to be able to return home.

And most importantly, it didn't seem like he had forgotten that Castiel was there for him when he needed him.

But to be honest, Castiel was very pleased that he wasn't needed tonight. He shut his door quietly and dumped a forth of a bottle of Percocets into a baggy before pocketing it, grabbed his coat and cell phone, and climbed out the window.

It didn't take him long to turn up at Crowley's house. The British teen lived just two blocks away. But Castiel snuck between the woods that separated their houses. He had a massive backyard that often held parties. In fact, rumor had it that a party would be taking place in the next few weeks.

Knowing the other boy better than Crowley knew himself, Castiel approached the basement window near the back of the house. The light was on. He thought about letting himself in, but he was in actual need tonight and didn't want to piss off his dealer. Instead he tapped on the window.

Crowley pulled back the shades after a minute. He was tying a bathrobe around his chest, but he looked more than a little surprised to see the other boy at his window. He unlocked it and allowed Castiel to come inside.

"Wotchu need, then, Castiel?" Crowley had his back to the other boy, as if he were suddenly very interested in the books on his shelf.

Castiel had been in Crowley's basement before. The teenager lived down here, although his parents were frequently absent. The space was pretty large and divided into two sections. To his left, behind Crowley, was his bedroom part. This included the typical things found in a teenage boy's bedroom: a bed, a dresser and closet, a desk and bookshelves. To the right there was a fully stocked bar. In the back there was a small stage with a stripper's pole. One seat was available dead center.

The younger boy pulled his iPod from his pocket and walked behind the bar. He heard Crowley protest but ignored the questions. He plugged the device in and chose a song. It lit up the whole basement with sound and bass. The British boy started walking toward him, but Castiel ducked around the bar, kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, and jumped on stage.

Crowley flashed him a look of confusion and before Castiel could actually think about it, the morphine caused his body to flow with the music. He wiggled his eyebrows and popped his coat from his shoulders, slowly letting the tan material slide down his arms.

Crowley walked to the chair, unable to really make a move against Castiel's blatant advances. He hadn't named a price, which was odd. Deals were always struck first. The younger boy gripped the pole and leaned toward Crowley, dropping his coat on the floor in the space between them.

The first few moments were awkward at best. Castiel danced near the pole, but didn't dare swing on it. Then, he started checking its stability. His first few attempts left him doing nothing but spinning around the pole. When he noticed the pole wasn't slippery, he stood on one side, gripped the pole one at shoulder height and one at hip height. He pulled his body to the pole and started to do a no-handed cartwheel, using the pole to support him.

At the last second, he bent his knee and hooked the pole, causing his body to spin in front of the pole. When he stopped moving, he kept his hips pressed back and knee pressed to the device and tentatively removed his arms. He was shaking at first, but looking at Crowley, upside down, with his arms extended got him a smile and wolf-whistle. He put his hands back on the pole and let his feet touch the ground.

The song ended and switched to one far slower. Castiel was aware his time playing was over and sat down at the foot of the stage across from Crowley. He was panting heavier than he should have. It was an exercise in physics, but he lacked the basic muscle formation to perform truly great tricks.

"Could I try that again sometime?"

Even Castiel was surprised by the words leaving his mouth. Crowley was outright stunned. He maybe heard the other boy say ten words, and they were always about drugs. And speaking of which, Crowley crossed his ankle over his knee and cleared his throat. "What did you come here for, Castiel?"

Castiel was well aware of what his body did to Crowley and how much the other man despised him for it. The younger boy would use that to his advantage. He pushed up from his seat and leaned forward, arms on Crowley's chair. He lowered his hips to a seated position, on his knees before the other boy, and moved Crowley's leg from obscuring him access. He pushed the other man's legs apart, and pulled himself up, so his chest and stomach would drag across Crowley's crotch.

The other man growled, "You did not come here for that."

"How do you know?" Castiel put one of his knees on one side of Crowley and straddled his hips. He made a conscious effort to grind down as he moved to put his mouth in line with his dealer's neck. "Maybe I just enjoy doing this to you."

"I have no doubt about that," Crowley groaned. Castiel felt the arms shifting around his hips, trying to get the other boy to grind on him again. "I'm sure you get sick enjoyment out of watching me squirm."

Somehow, something was broken in that instant. Crowley was aware of Castiel's plan to seduce him, which made his dealer a little more pathetic. They made eye contact for a brief second, before Crowley looked away in shame. It somehow felt wrong, tempting Crowley when he didn't know the deal.

"Heroin."

"Heroin, angel? Are you mad?" Castiel didn't respond, and Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Are you high right now?"

"I am always high."

"Right, but I mean…" Crowley moved his head from side to side. Castiel wouldn't meet his eye, so Crowley reached out, grabbed the other boy's chin, and forced eye contact. "I mean, something kind of heavy, aren't you? Explains the talking. And the dancing. What is it?"

But his dealer wasn't dumb. If a junkie asked for heroin, he was on another opiate. And Crowley sure as hell remembered selling him the morphine. Castiel tried to scramble off the boy, but Crowley had the strength to stand them both up at once. He placed the other boy down, and Castiel scrambled to put his shoes back on, but was stopped with a snap and a held up hand. Crowley's other hand was rubbing at the bridge of his own nose.

"Why is this a problem for you? Surely, you have others in here asking for heroin, offering their bodies to you."

"Because, Castiel," Crowley turned from him. "The others aren't men."

"If that is suddenly an issue for you, I have other methods of payment. I have other drugs to trade. I have money," Castiel knew he was frowning. He could feel the confusion on his face. "I didn't have any control over the sex I was born into. Do I perform inadequately?"

Crowley turned too quickly, denied the other's claim too ferociously. "It's not that. Jesus, Castiel."

They remained unmoving in the silence. They wouldn't look at each other. But Castiel couldn't help shake the feeling that he was a starving puppy who just gotten smacked when he asked for food. He had never had a problem with Crowley before; he always sold and bought from him. Sure, heroin was a step beyond pot. And maybe even ecstasy. But so was morphine. And he did that once.

"Look, angel. I sold you the morphine because your dad left. I didn't expect you to even use it, let alone make a habit of it. Heroin is bad, you know. It's like mess-up-your-life forever bad."

"Why do you care?" Castiel looked up. Crowley had always been painfully aware of how blue his eyes were. But when they were almost tearing up with confusion, rage, pain, and uncontrollable want, Crowley had a hard time believing he never really _noticed_ them before. He always seemed so blank, but full of emotion and almost begging for something only Crowley could give him – it made his stomach jump to his gut. "If you hate heroin so much, why do you sell it?"

"Get out." It was said in hardly above a whisper, and Castiel wasn't even sure he heard it until the other boy was walking toward the bar. He yanked the static iPod from the stereo system and tossed it at Castiel.

"Crowley…"

"I said 'Get out,' Castiel. Get the fuck out of my house."

The other boy was quick to put his shoes and socks back on. He threw his coat over his shoulders and dug in his pockets. From the baggy of about ten, he took three Percocets and shoved them at Crowley. The other boy stared at his hand with a blank expression and a red face.

"What?"

"Thank you for letting me try out the pole."

It was a peace offering and they both knew it. The cash value of three Percocet on the street was equal to one hit of black tar heroin. Castiel was paying up front. Crowley sighed and took the pills, letting their hands touch for a few seconds longer than necessary. Castiel tried to force a smile and stood on the couch to climb out the window.

"Why do you even want it? What happened to you?"

Castiel stayed facing away from his dealer. He knew it was an excuse, and he hated using her name that way, but he had never been filled with such a need before. "My mother died last night."

"Shit, Castiel. I'm sorry," The younger boy felt the hand on his back, but moved away from it.

"I must be going. My brothers will wonder where I am," Castiel started lifting himself out the window, but a hand on his shoulder caused him to stop.

"Look, angel. No long term deals with us and this stuff, okay? Come back inside. We'll work something out for tonight," Castiel let Crowley guide him back in and he stepped down from the couch. The familiar darkness crept upon Crowley's face, "And we can work out some time where you can practice on the pole, if you like."

Castiel felt himself mimic Crowley's dark smile.


	3. Crossing Shadows

**Chapter 3: "Crossing Shadows"**

Dean was surprised by the knocking on his door and fumbled around trying to find his cell phone so he could see the time. He had two more minutes until his alarm was set to go off. He laid back down and was almost asleep when the knocking started again.

"What?" He yelled.

Sam peeked in his room. He was already showered and seemed sheepish about intruding on his brother. Dean sat up and buried his head in his hands. The younger boy couldn't really remember the last time he saw Dean without a shirt, but he certainly never had muscles like that before.

Maybe Sam should get into mechanics. Lanky and scrawny wouldn't get him very far with girls.

"Sammy, what?"

The alarm went off and Sam started waking over shut it off. Dean beat him out of bed and smacked the thing. He started searching for clothes on his floor.

Sam opened his dresser drawer and handed him some clothes. Dean shot him a look and Sam shrugged, "Dad did laundry."

"Of course he did," his brother pushed past him to walk to the bathroom.

"Gabriel invited us over for breakfast," Sam called. "Free food."

Sam heard the water start and sighed. He was surprised when Dean's head popped around the door and the steam hit him like a tidal wave. "At what cost? They're going to make us pray or something? They're going to try and convert us?"

"Have they tried so far?" Sam specifically left out that he had been going to church with the Novaks every Sunday for close to three months now. Dean always worked Sunday morning.

"No, but it's not just Cas and Gabe and Balthazar. The older ones were always crazy religious. Even Michael isn't all there upstairs, I think."

Sam scoffed, "Gabriel said that his older brothers are at work. It's just them this morning. Otherwise he wouldn't be stupid enough to invite us over."

Dean rolled his eyes, but made extra certain to take a short shower. He needed help with the algebra homework anyway.

* * *

 

"Can you please add more chocolate chips," Gabriel whined. "We're trying to set up a romantic breakfast here and nothing says 'no thanks, I can't look past the fact that you're a dude to bone you' faster than not enough chocolate chips in the pancakes."

Balthazar actually had to stop, turn, and face his brother to cry out, "Really? I mean, Really, Gabriel?"

The youngest boy shrugged, "That's what I would say if there weren't enough chocolate chips in my pancakes from another boy."

"Really, Gabriel? You'd go gay for someone for chocolate chips?"

The youngest boy wiggled his eyebrows. "Who is going anywhere for anything?"

Balthazar just sighed and turned back to his food. "I'm not even sure I fully understand what that means. But you need to go get Castiel up."

Gabriel didn't even pause as he skipped to his brother's room. He didn't bother knocking – he never did – but Castiel was asleep on his stomach. He had the blankets over his waist, so the younger boy couldn't tell if he had any clothes on.

He stood over his brother's bed for a second. Castiel had both arms out and under his pillow, his head turned slightly to face the door. He had a smile on his face. But even with the rare smile, Gabriel couldn't help but notice his brother's back. He had a decent spread to his shoulder blades and might have been built stockier – more like Lucifer and himself than Michael or Balthazar – but his rib cage dropped off into nothing.

The mass of his stomach, even from the back, was nonexistent. Gabriel wondered what his brother weighed or if he had eaten at all since yesterday morning.

Tentatively, Gabriel reached out a hand and placed it on his brother's bare back. He was really clammy, and the other boy thought he may have a fever. Castiel didn't wake up.

Gabriel shook him. Castiel didn't wake up.

Panic suddenly shot through the younger boy, and he called out to his brother. He still didn't stir. Gabriel was just about to get Balthazar – after a mix of yelling and smacking still didn't awaken his brother – when the alarm went off. Castiel shot upright.

"Are you serious?" Gabriel whispered, placing a hand on Castiel's shoulder. The younger boy was too busy examining his brother for damage to see the look on his face. His eyes grew wide and confused, trying to focus the other boy, before he settled in focus and gave a small, strange smile.

Castiel didn't seem any worse for wear. The younger brother couldn't help but thumb the circular scar on his collarbone. "Go get in the shower, Castiel. You'll be late for school."

The other boy shook his head and tried to lay back down. Gabriel grabbed him by the arm and dragged him up. "Oh no, sir. The Winchesters will be here in like ten minutes and you expect us to help that idiot with his homework?" Castiel groaned, which Gabriel was sure was the first sound he had heard from his brother since his scream the night their mother died other than the hushed conversations he had with Dean.

Somehow, Gabriel was able to half drag-half carry his brother to the bathroom. He waited outside until he heard the shower start, then went inside the room again to see what he could find to sexify his older brother.

With no luck, (Castiel only seemed to own Sunday bests and typical jeans and t-shirts,) he returned to the kitchen. Castiel could pick out his own damn clothes for today. They had other, more pressing matters to discuss. "Should his hair be spiked up or flat down? Who's Dean gayer for: Michael or Lucifer?"

Balthazar smiled at his brother, "Why would you assume Dean Winchester would go gay for either of them? That option has been on the table somewhere around twelve years and he hasn't taken the bait yet."

"Oh, young Balthazar, allow me to rock your world. Every human in the history of the world falls into either Team Michael or Team Lucifer. They are perfect opposites. For example, let's focus simply on the hair…"

Unfortunately at that moment, there was a knock at the door. Gabriel yelled to allow the others to enter. They heard him and walked in. He was kind of upset that he wouldn't get to share his Twin Theory with Balthazar until the other boy decided to be a jerk.

"How great to see you!" Balthazar exclaimed as he sat pancakes in front of both boys at the kitchen's bar. They sat on stools and started inhaling the food. "Gabriel was just about to rock my world. Care to listen?"

Sam laughed aloud at the ugly look the youngest boy shot toward his brother. It must have been about Operation Let's-Get-Our-Brothers-To-Go-Gay-For-Each-Other-Fo r-No-Apparent-Reason. It was a working title.

"Well fine, _Balthazar_. If you insist," Gabriel sat down and started eating his pancakes. "Basically, this will in no way rock anyone's world. We were simply debating whose hair was better. For instance, would girls be more likely to sleep with a guy if his hair was down or if it were spiked."

"You somehow related it to the twins, I believe, Gabriel?" Balthazar smirked.

"Right, thank you, bro," Gabriel ran his hand through his hair. "Would girls go for Michael's hair or Lucifer's hair?" Balthazar shot him a look, so Gabriel sighed. "Okay, let's just assume that you were gay for a moment, Sam. Which of my brothers would you sleep with?"

Dean finally broke eye contact with his pancakes at the pathetic squeal Sam made. Dean shot an amused look at Gabriel, as if he appreciated the teasing. Sam continued to stammer for a few more seconds, his voice crossing what sounded to be several octaves.

The color of Sam's face was the same shade of red as the cherry Gabriel dangled to his mouth, and likewise, the color of his tongue as he licked the whip cream from the fruit. When it became apparent that Sam was unable to answer, the youngest boy bit the cherry from the stem and asked Dean his opinion.

"The question is do girls like short hair or long hair on a guy?" Dean clarified.

"Yeah. That." Gabriel quickly added, "Or, which of my brothers would you be willing to have sexual relations with. Whichever you feel more comfortable answering."

Dean smirked, "I see what's going on, trickster." Gabriel shot a worried look at Balthazar. "One of you has hair like Lucifer and the other has hair like Michael. I'm not getting involved in your petty argument." The oldest boy tried to put the last bit of pancake in his mouth at once, but it dropped off his fork and landed on his shirt. He picked it up like it wasn't a big deal and popped it in his mouth.

"Where's your bathroom?" Dean asked.

Well aware it was occupied, Gabriel said, "Down the hall, first door to the left."

Dean got up and started walking to his destination.

"Though as a completely objective third party who happens to have short hair and wild success with ladies, I'd have to say Lucifer has nicer hair," he winked back at them. "Sorry, Gabe."

Balthazar grinned, "Told you I'd get laid before you."

Once facing away, Dean brought his shirt to his lips, licking the syrup from the material before it died and became impossible to clean. He reached out to grasp the bathroom's doorknob at the same time that the door swung inward and away from him. His eyes had been at hip level, so he couldn't help but give his friend the once over, just to make eye-contact.

"Oh, hey there, Cas," Dean grinned.

Castiel just rolled his eyes with a smile on his face, pushed past his friend, and entered his room to get dressed. The boys in the kitchen heard Dean turn on the water to clean off his shirt. Soon enough, both boys had joined them again.

Much later in study hall, when they had time to reflect on their brothers interactions, they eventually deemed that nothing abnormal had happened. Not even when they almost hit bare stomach to completely naked, wet torso, there didn't seem to be anything of a sexual nature there.

At best, they were becoming friends.

Sam had hoped that this meant Gabriel and Balthazar would give up and go on to something new. They sort of did, but their new fascination still made Sam uncomfortable.

* * *

 

The usually helpful Castiel was completely checked out of chemistry that day. It was okay; they were mostly doing review work from the day before. Apparently unlike Castiel, no one else learned anything. But Dean was starting to get it on his own.

The weird thing was that Castiel wasn't even making an attempt to hide his cell phone.

They sat in the back, and Castiel had his chair pulled out and his knees pressed up against the table in front of him. He was decent enough to have a notebook over his legs so it appeared as if he were taking notes. To an idiot.

Meaning, the chemistry teacher.

Dean had gone so far as to directly ask a question, but Castiel was completely engrossed with whatever he was watching on his phone and ignored him. Finally, when the teacher gave them a break before their lab, Dean snatched the phone. Castiel didn't even really fight for it. He did, though, shift the notebook lower onto his lap as if hide something else.

The Winchester boy stared at the screen for a few moments as if he were trying to make heads or tails of the video. Then, all at once, he let the phone slip from his hands as if it would give him a disease by simply touching it. It only fell a few inches to the table, but he quickly grimaced, picked up the smart phone delicately, and pushed it back at Castiel. It was no worse for wear.

"What the hell are you watching strippers for, Cas?" Dean hissed.

Castiel looked up at Dean with his eyes, but barely moved his head. The blue were a shade darker than Dean remembered, and his pupils were huge. Dean had seen the look on plenty of girls before. They were bed eyes, and Castiel was making them at him. To be honest, it didn't make him uncomfortable for any of the right reasons.

"They aren't strippers. They're dancers. Pole dancers. Who… sometimes remove articles of clothing."

Dean felt the confused look on his face, but quickly relaxed it when Castiel licked his lips. "That is the textbook definition of what a stripper is."

"But they never get completely nude."

Dean sighed, "That's because you're watching on a YouTube app. The question remains a big fat _why_."

The lust started draining from Castiel's face as he was forced to think critically. Dean felt himself breathing again. Castiel looked away for a few moments, before facing toward his lab partner.

"I think it is a beautiful display of music and dance. An expression of the physical extremes a human body can go through to display that beauty." Castiel met Dean's eye in a painful way. "I admire those with control over their bodies. I wish I could dance like them."

There were some things that even Dean Winchester would not touch with a ten foot pole. The way his heart skipped a beat at the thought of his friend being a pole dancer was one of them.

"Okay, class. Take your seats!"

Castiel went back to watching videos, but the idea of Castiel "expressing the beauty of music and dance" by slowly discarding his clothes and clinging to and swinging around a pole was not something Dean Winchester could burn from his mind.

* * *

 

A few nights later, Dean and Bobby had finished up their work early. Dean was rubbing some grease from his hands onto a once white towel. Bobby extended the neck of a beer to him. They uncapped, toasted, and took long, refreshing sips.

They didn't have pizza, but Bobby had something far greater: a part the Impala had desperately needed that Dean couldn't afford.

They worked in silence for a while, until Dean realized that the alcohol and present were just clever ruses to get him to open up. He was a little offended. He would have talked to Bobby if he had just asked, but apparently, his employer didn't feel like it was his place to pry.

"So, John's back," Dean stated with his hands elbow deep into the hood. Bobby made a sound, so Dean continued. "He's been alright so far."

"John was a good man, Dean. I knew him back before your mother died. He really loved you and Sam."

"Past tense," Dean untangled himself with the hood, wiping his brow with a spot on his arm not covered in grease. "I get that it's hard raising two teenage boys, especially for a single dad, but half the time we're starving to death. He's always here around the first of the month to collect his check, and he leaves us some, but by the third week he's off on some hunting trip in the woods and we're trying to survive."

Dean reached for the beer on the side table. Leaning against the Impala, he finished the rest of his drink. "I just don't ever know if I feel sorry for him or hate him."

Bobby patted Dean on the shoulder. The younger man wasn't even aware he had tears in his eyes until he looked up, and they spilled down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away.

Another hour or so passed before Dean staggered home. He was aware it was nine pm on a school night and he shouldn't have gotten that drunk, but he was his father's son, after all. From the first sip he stole when he was about twelve, he had a very positive reaction to alcohol.

That wasn't to say that he hadn't ever had negative times with alcohol. He'd spent his fair share of time huddled over a toilet, but even then it was never long before he was drinking again. More than anything, though, he didn't want Sam to see him while drinking. He wanted to do whatever possible to keep his brother from giving in to their alcoholic genes.

He wanted to nip it before it even became an _idea_ of a bud.

His front door was unlocked, and he tried to be as quiet as possible as he walked through the house. He could probably pass out right now if he could make it up the stairs. Bobby usually didn't let him get this bad, but it was his reward for opening up and talking.

School would be hell tomorrow if he could wake up at all.

Dean put his foot on the bottom step and heard the weight of the whole house shift. He was going to wake Sam up for sure. Something dropped in the kitchen, and a swearing hiss got the older boy to turn around. Dean couldn't help it. He went to the noise.

His father was on his hands and knees before him, wiping up what smelled like whiskey on the floor. Dean grabbed a paper towel and helped him soak it up.

Suddenly, his dad looked up at him and their eyes met.

"Have you been drinking, Dean?"

"Have you?"

It was the end of a conversation that should have gone much differently. Then again, John Winchester was not a traditional father in any smidgeon of the word. Traditional and father.

Instead, John sat back down and put his head in his hands. Dean poured him another drink, and his father did something strange then. Something he had never done before. He stood, grabbed another cup, sat it in front of Dean, and poured his son some of the whiskey to share.

* * *

 

Castiel tucked the white dress shirt into his pants before zipping up and adding a belt. He popped his collar and grabbed a solid blue tie from his closet. It took him a few tries to tie it right and get it to look halfway decent. It was still backwards, but he didn't care. Close enough. He smoothed his collar down around the tie and put the black suit jacket over it. He buttoned it, but decided he looked better with it unbuttoned.

He ran his hand through his hair, trying to make it stick up more… more like Lucifer's.

Then he put his tan coat on and was out the window in no time.

Crowley had grown on him the last couple of nights. After that first night, Crowley had agreed to give him two balloons of heroin for the price of one – the price of the three Percocets he traded already. But part of the deal was that the drugs stayed with Crowley. When Castiel needed it, he would do the drugs with "adult supervision."

He wasn't aware Crowley cared that much about him.

The past few days hadn't been too hard, but Castiel fully intended on using one of his hits tonight.

Castiel had spent the last few nights playing on Crowley's pole. (Castiel snickered at the double entendre, and then snickered more when he thought about how accurate it was.) Tonight, he thought he could do a whole song with decent moves. He planned on showing Crowley.

While Castiel played in Crowley's basement, the other boy did loads of things. In fact, after that first night, he had hardly even glanced at Castiel while he danced. He did homework, for one. He made deals. Once, he had sex with a girl. When his dealer brought the girl downstairs, he ushered her to his bed. Castiel asked if he should leave, and the British teen licked his lips.

"Oh, no, angel. She's so strung out she won't even know you're here," Crowley patted Castiel's sweaty cheek. "Give me twenty minutes, love."

Castiel couldn't see them, and he could hardly hear them over the music, but he was silently thankful he hadn't taken anything other than Xanax that night, or he may have tried to watch – or worse – join them.

He was at Crowley's window in record time.

When the other boy pulled back his curtain, he was smoking a cigarette. He unlatched the lock and Castiel twisted his body through the small window. He dropped down to the couch, then stepped down further onto the floor.

It took Crowley a few more seconds to turn around and offer the taller boy a drag from the cigarette. He froze. "You're wearing a suit."

"I thought it would please you," Castiel took the cigarette from the dealer and took a drag. He saw the way the other man stared at him and couldn't help but enjoy the attention.

"Oh, angel. It does please us."

Castiel handed the cigarette back. Crowley took a quick drag and turned away. The younger boy went behind the bar.

Crowley's basement was almost a second home to him. He got out a glass and poured some Scotch into it. He waited for the other boy to join him at the bar before he slid the glass over like a bartender.

"I'd like to propose a deal."

Crowley raised the glass to his lips and smirked into it. "Castiel, I do believe we have several active deals going at once. Perhaps we should finish one contract before we start another."

"Well then, I previously paid for two balloons. I would like one now."

Crowley looked displeased, but he walked back to his bed. In a candy dish sat a bunch of what appeared to be rolled candies. Castiel knew better. He got his diabetic bag from his coat pocket and lit the candle. He abandoned his coat and his suit jacket. Unbuttoning the wrist of his shirt, he rolled that up and wrapped the tourniquet around his arm.

He hadn't even seen Crowley return to this side of the room. The British boy looked at him with mild fascination. "You're going to shoot it?"

"Fastest."

Crowley shook his head. "You are intense, Castiel. When you fall from grace, you fall hard." He handed over the drug.

As Castiel unwrapped the heroin and mixed it in a spoon and started cooking it, he had time to think about what Crowley had just said to him. _Intense_ could have been a complement, but Castiel knew it wasn't meant to be one. He looked up at his dealer. He was facing away, sitting on a stool, drinking his drink. Castiel could have sworn he saw the other boy shake his head.

Again, the younger boy wondered why the drug dealer sold the stuff if he had such a strong aversion to it. But asking would get him nowhere. Castiel, instead, greedily put the heroin in the syringe, tapped out the bubbles and injected it in his arm.

He sighed as he pushed the syringe down, pushing the drug into his veins. He noticed that Crowley was watching him with idle fascination. He really hadn't ever seen anyone take a drug this way before. The dealer didn't take the harder drugs himself, and if he ever stuck around to watch someone do the heroin he brought, he must have always looked away.

Castiel pulled the needle out of his arm and started cleaning himself. He blew out the candle, washed off the spoon, and packed his bag back up. He rolled down his sleeve and put his suit jacket back on. He left the tan coat off but put the bag in his coat pocket.

He didn't have to wait. The release was instantaneous.

Crowley poured himself some more Scotch and turned away.

Castiel knew it hit hard when he attempted to name his relationship to Crowley. He liked the other man well enough. Perhaps a bit more than a junkie typically felt toward their drug dealer. It would be friendship, he thought, if their encounters didn't almost always end in drugs, oral sex, or more often than not both.

For a brief moment, Castiel wondered if he loved Crowley.

He tested his theory by reaching out and touching the other man's hand. The British teen turned and looked at their joined hands, before smiling at Castiel. Crowley adjusted his body so they were gripping at each other.

It hit Castiel like a train. He felt his heart swell with drugs and guilt. Crowley – though he would never admit it – was in love with him. And at that exact moment that Castiel made this discovery, he realized what Crowley was to him.

A reoccurring john.

He would keep returning to him because he paid and he was kind. It was like the man in the prostitution movie who really didn't want to pay for sex, but he kept coming and coming, because he loved the prostitute.

Castiel was Nicole Kidman and Crowley was Ewen McGregor. Except nothing inside Castiel loved Crowley.

True, he liked Crowley well enough. If circumstances were different, they could be friends. And he thought Crowley was attractive enough – he wouldn't continuously put himself in this position if he didn't find some bit of Crowley attractive – but Crowley was certainly no Dean Winchester.

Castiel felt his head tilt to the side. That was an interesting train of thought.

His hand was already in Crowley's, so he simply stood and led him to the pole. For the sake of the other boy, tonight would be their last night together. It was fun if it just frustrated Crowley, but when emotions got involved – that was just mean. Heroin seemed really awesome, only a few minutes in and he felt like he was swimming in pleasure, but he could get a prescription for something he liked just as well.

He couldn't keep doing this to Crowley.

But they deserved a finale. Castiel sat his dealer down, then returned to the bar to pick a song. On YouTube, Castiel saw a boy do a really amazing dance to a John Mayer song, but knew he lacked both the physical ability and talent to do a slow song. His best bet for success with only a few days practice was to focus on the removal of clothes, dancing near the pole, and the occasional trick thrown in.

" _My girlfriend's a dick magnet.  
My girlfriend's gotta have it."_  


Crowley was tapping his feet to the beat, but the rest of him was tense and still. His drink was abandoned at his side. His shoulders were at his ears and his hands gripped his thighs. Castiel swung around the pole before his fingers loosened his tie.

Instead, he had a better idea and crawled to Crowley. He didn't need to ask the other boy for help. He jumped at the chance to pull and tug at the fabric at Castiel's throat.

" _No one really knows if she's drunk or if she's stoned,  
But she's coming back to my place tonight."_  


Tie abandoned on the floor, Castiel leaped toward the pole, catching it, hooking his leg, and spinning around. He tried one of the tricks and was sure it looked foolish, but Crowley clapped. Castiel rewarded his praise by losing the suit jacket. A couple more spins. At the end of one, he landed on his knees and crawled forward. Still on his knees at the end of the stage, he leaned back a little bit. Angled backwards, Castiel rocked his hips forward and backward – thrusting – as his unbuttoned his shirt.

Crowley shifted in his chair, getting closer to the edge of his seat. When the younger boy exposed his chest, letting the thin material fall from his shoulders and dance down his arms, Crowley had to grip the chair's handles to keep himself where he was and not touch the other boy's flesh.

" _She likes to shake her ass; she grinds it to the beat.  
She likes to pull my hair when I make her grind her teeth."_  


Castiel stood and danced himself back to the pole. When he got there, he hooked his leg around and swung. He did a 360, still facing away from his audience. He danced, moving his hips back and forth as he unbuttoned and lowered his pants.

When they were removed, he turned back to swing but Crowley was there, on stage with him.

" _I like to strip her down; she's naughty to the end."_  


Crowley made quick work of abandoning his tie, and Castiel reached to unbutton his shirt. Crowley attacked the younger boy's neck, and Castiel dropped to his knees.

Crowley tangled his fingers in Castiel's hair, and Castiel thought, what could one last time hurt?

" _You know what she is, no doubt about it, she's a bad, bad girlfriend."_  


* * *

 

Over the next week or so, the younger Novaks told Sam about the power struggle between their older brothers. Zachariah was holding down the fort, but his rules were even stricter than their parents. Quickly, they were forced into prayer every day. Their diets were limited further, and curfew was set earlier. He refused to talk about their mother or father, insisting that both were dead and would never return. He was in charge now and would remain the leader of the family.

When Zachariah was gone, Raphael got crazy. He took the rules to a violent extreme. He found out that Balthazar had a set of knives and ran him from the house and refused to let him back in until he cut his arm with the knife as a way of repenting. Raphael was huge on atonement, and he was always quick to pick out flaws and sins and try to force his brothers to fit the mold of what their father would have wanted them to be. (Sam noticed that slowly, more and more of Balthazar's weapons were hidden under his own bed. Where the hell did the guy get a handgun?)

The cut off between Raphael and Michael was extreme as well. The elder sons had no hope their father would return, but Michael never once doubted. The youngest boys said they could hear Michael praying for hours for answers and guidance.

Lucifer took their father's abandonment particularly personal, but they hadn't figured out why yet. He had spent the week following their mother's death absent. Sometimes, they could hear him listening to music lightly in his room, even on their way back from their mandated prayer time. Most of the time he was just gone.

The youngest three Novaks had their own agenda. Castiel was frequently absent from prayer that week. They weren't sure if he hid in his room (and Zachariah never even bothered to check on him to see if he was there) or if he truly was gone most nights. His rebellion, unknown to himself, stirred Balthazar and Gabriel on.

Anyway, for some unknown reason, the Novaks' new plan was to score alcohol and get drunk. Somehow, the idea of losing their virginities came back up as a part of this plan. Sam, of course, was invited to the party if he helped with the planning, brought some chicks, and didn't cockblock either of the other two.

"Plan one: Steal Zachariah, Uriel, or Raphael's ID and buy alcohol."

Gabriel shook his head. "We look about twelve, let's be honest. And let's be more honest, none of us look anything like Uriel or Raphael."

Sam giggled, but Balthazar asked, "Well, what about Dean? He could probably pass as Zachariah."

"Dean won't buy me alcohol," Sam chimed in. "Especially with our dad home."

The Novaks nodded their understanding. Sam didn't often talk about his father, but they gathered that he was an alcoholic.

"Option Two: We make fake IDs McLovin style and become heroes of a party and sleep with girls."

Sam and Balthazar shared a look, then looked at Gabriel. "Did you finish Superbad? That's not how the movie ends."

Gabriel dismissed them with a shrug. They continued to argue amongst themselves for a few minutes, before they heard a mostly unfamiliar voice join in.

"Just go to Crowley's party on Friday," Lucifer walked to the cupboard and poured some cereal into a bowl before dumping milk in and sitting down at his kitchen table next to Sam. "Free alcohol. Problem solved."

Then, realizing he had never seen the boy he was sitting next to before, he asked very politely (for Lucifer, at least). "And who might you be?"

Sam ignored the fact that he had been sitting two pews away from the older boy every Sunday for three months. He wiped his hand on his jeans, as if they were dirty or sweaty or something – a nervous tick of his – before he extended it to the other boy. "Sam Winchester."

Lucifer took his hand with a grin. "Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name."

Sam actually laughed aloud at his friends' brother's joke. Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows at Balthazar, who rolled his eyes at their Lucifer's favorite line, but Sam didn't notice.

"Just call me Lucifer?"

"Cause I'm in need of some restraint," The blond boy stated so mater-of-factly that it was kind of spooky. Even to his younger brothers.

"So, Luci, what are you all chipper about this lovely morning?" Sam would have thought that Gabriel would be murdered for the shortening of his name, but the older boy didn't even flinch. Gabriel just had that effect on some people.

"Well, as you can see, the black eye Michael gave me is completely gone," he gestured to his face. "So I am ready to either start picking up girls or starting fights with random guys again. Haven't decided yet." He shoved a spoonful of cheerios in his mouth. "Anyone you want beaten up?"

"Not today, thanks, Lucifer," Balthazar seemed uncomfortable around his brother. Sam couldn't help but wonder if Lucifer played the part of his namesake. Dean had never had a run in with Lucifer personally, but the school was always filled with rumors about who had beaten up who at the abandoned, graffitied church behind the school. It was usually Dean Winchester or Lucifer Novak starring as the role of the victor.

If he had been given a normal human being name, would he be such a fighter? Was he named for his attitude, or did his name cause it? Sam could spend hours debating that.

"But, Luci, you mentioned Crowley's party?" Gabriel pushed.

Lucifer nodded, eating another spoonful of cereal.

"Crowley's hosting the _senior_ party this Friday. We're too young. We'd never get in."

Lucifer smiled at his brother and put a hand on his shoulder, the other over his chest. "Oh, that's right. The annual Senior Sign In. God Bless your heart for reminding me to find an underclassman."

"What's the Senior Sign In?" Sam asked.

"It's the biggest party of the year," Gabriel explained. "Only seniors are allowed to go. They can bring one underclassman as a guest, but they need to visibly tag the person they're with. It used to be a t-shirt or something. Now they typically force underclassmen into bikinis and sign their stomachs." He paused, "Or if the girls bring a boy, typically they're shirtless."

"Well maybe I'll bring you something home as a souvenir," Lucifer finished his breakfast. "What do you want? Rum? Vodka? I mean it's at Crowley's so how about some Patrón or Hennessy? You know what, I know you well enough. I'll just browse and pick out something for you."

"You can bring someone, brother?" Balthazar asked. "Bring one of us."

Lucifer shook his head, "Oh hell no am I bringing one of my little brothers to a party. What are you thinking, idiots?" He went to the sink and ran water in his bowl, but left it there for one of his other brothers to properly clean it. Turning, he faced his downtrodden little brothers.

He grinned a devilish smile that made the hair on the back of Sam's neck stand on edge.

"Can you imagine being the lucky whore walking into that den of sin and decadence with 'LUCIFER' written on your collarbone or down your side or on your hipbone," the blond boy closed his eyes and shook his head, reveling in the thought.

Gabriel and Balthazar obviously had a new appreciation for their brother. Balthazar quickly changed his "75% of a chance Lucifer has had sex" to a 100%.

"That's pretty much the best name to have if you're going for sin and decadence, but…" Sam wasn't sure why he was speaking at all. According to the rumors, Lucifer has beaten up kids for looking at him oddly. Suddenly the older boy's eyes shot open, and Sam swore he felt the temperature of the room drop. "But… I think it could be cool name to do something beautiful with – if, I mean, you were taking someone more than a whore. Which it's perfectly okay to just take someone who you're only planning on sleeping with. But it could also be a cool statement if you drew, like, a shooting star."

The three Novaks stared at the lone Winchester, and he wasn't sure if he was a deep shade of red or a ghostly pale.

"Because Lucifer is the Morning Star." More stares. "Yeah, never mind. Just… write Lucifer then… bang the hell out of her." Sam ended, awkward and defeated.

Even Gabriel didn't laugh at him.

Sam was praying for someone to do something to break that silence. Even if Lucifer just punched him right in the nose and broke that to break the silence it would be worth it. He wasn't even aware he was staring at the counter in front of him until he saw the hand invade his vision. He looked up at the same time he felt the other boy roughly grab his wrist and pull it to him across the kitchen bar.

The older boy pulled a sharpie from his pocket and bit the cap off. He turned Sam's arm over, so his wrist was facing up. With the careful consideration of a serial killer, Lucifer moved the sharpie across the other boy's wrist. It took a few seconds before Sam even thought of looking to see what profanity the older boy was writing on him.

His eyes fell to his wrist, and he was surprised to see the crude outline of a star forming. With three lines, it became a shooting star. Lucifer signed his creation in small, legible letters under the lines. He let go of the other boy's wrist, capped the sharpie, and stuck it back in his back pocket.

"It's Tuesday. If you can keep that from washing off by Friday, you can be my…" Sam looked up, fully aware of the exact shade of red his face must be. He could tell Lucifer was searching for a better word than _whore_ and he silently thanked him. Though, the pause took a lot longer than it should have to come up with the word "…wingman."

With that, Lucifer seemed to be in a rush to leave. He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, well aware of Balthazar's whines.

"That's not fair, Lucifer! You won't take your own brothers, but you'll take him? No offense, Sam," Sam was still too shocked to reply. "You just learned his name today! And I'm older! I should get to go."

Lucifer did pause on his way out the door to say a farewell, "Quit your bitching, Bathazar." With a point he added, "Stay classy, Gabie." Gabriel grinned and pointed back.

When the brothers had turned back to their food, Balthazar was still bitching under his breath to a very amused Gabriel. Sam snuck a look back at his potential… um… pilot for Friday night. He was still looking back at them. When he caught Sam's eye, he gave another smirk that made the younger boy's blood run cold.

Then Lucifer winked at him.

And he was out the door before Sam could react.

The Winchester boy was still lost in his thoughts, so he completely missed it when Gabriel nudged his brother. "Hey, remember when we asked Sam which of our brothers he'd want to bone?" Seeing where the joke was going, Balthazar finally stopped bitching and smiled. "I never thought he _actually_ wanted to bone one of us."

"Really dodged a bullet, there, mate. Didn't we?" Balthazar agreed.

* * *

 

After what could quite possibly have been the shortest time a junkie ever spent addicted to opiates, Castiel skipped school the next day to visit the guy who supplied him with his drugs to get a refill of Xanax and hopefully a prescription for some type of amphetamine. And maybe more anti-depressants if he was lucky with the other two.

Although he loved the low of the heroin, he thought he would enjoy the high of amphetamines. Worth a shot, right? It wouldn't kill him to try new things. Probably.

Sitting in the lobby waiting to be called in, he pulled up his Web MD app and looked up the symptoms of ADD one last time. He felt this particular acting stunt needed help; he broke into Lucifer's room after he had left for school and stole two Adderalls that the older boy didn't like to take as prescribed anyway. After searching the internet for hours, Castiel discovered that the quickest and most profound effect came from snorting.

Oddly enough, Castiel felt more uncomfortable snorting something than he had shooting it into his arm. He took them orally. Although he really didn't want to become mega-focused and turn out a twenty-five page essay – which he heard was a typical effect of the drug – it seemed to be working fabulously so far. He was pretty sure he was driving the lady behind the reception counter nuts with his feet tapping.

He had planned on acting like he had ADD, but with the amphetamines in his system, acting anxious was not necessary. He'd already walked around the office three times trying to burn off some energy, but nothing worked.

And the way any slight noise had him breaking focus to look for the source kind of made him wonder if this was what having ADD was actually like. It felt like he had a bunch of monsters from purgatory stuck inside him, ready to burst out and swim off as hundreds of black goo snakes in every direction to infect other people. The black goo snakes were having a lot of crazy fun trying to take over him and he felt himself smiling and knew he must look absolutely insane, but a little voice in his head commented, _"This is going to be so much fun."_ And Castiel agreed with it.

He shook his head, unaware he had been rocking in cut time in his chair until he made a conscious effort to control his body and sit back.

Thinking objectively, he should probably write down that simile-turned-extended-metaphor to use in English class.

He started texting it to himself when the doctor called him in.

As the boy walked behind the doctor into his office, Castiel started having serious doubts about coming to a session high as a kite. He could hardly control himself. He was tapping his hands on his knees and remained doing so as he sat down on the couch.

There was a sand garden in front of him. There had always been one, but he had never paid any attention to it before. He slid off the couch and sat on the floor and started running the rake through the sand.

"Castiel, what are you doing?"

Castiel looked up and tried to run his hand through his hair, trying to get it to stick up. He was sweaty and it clung to his head. He smiled at the doctor, big and crazy, then went back to the sand garden.

"Castiel, a lot has happened since your last session, and we really need to talk about it. I know you typically don't like talking, but –"

"My mom died," Castiel was saying, unable to stop the words as he made a circle in the sand. "My mom died and I can't stop shaking." He held up his hands, and true to someone taking way too many uppers, his body had tremors running through them.

"Castiel…"

"My brother Zachariah almost conned me into singing my favorite song. He almost had me do it too. My favorite song of praise to worship the Lord when he knew the most important person in my life – my best friend – my _mother_ – had been dead for hours and nobody thought to call and tell me. He let me sing and praise for ten minutes before he told me." Castiel was truly surprised at the word vomit. More so, he was surprised because he was telling the truth.

Amphetamines were a truth serum. The small part of his brain that recognized he was too high to be doing this now tried to gain control. The amphetamines pushed him back. In his mind, a small Castiel was shoved by a bigger, high Castiel and he watched the boy fall with a pout on his face.

"And ever since my father left or died or whatever, I haven't been able to focus in school. I mean it has been slow going, but I find myself coloring in notebooks instead of taking notes. My chemistry notebook is already a quarter filled with highlighted doodles. Do you want to see?"

"Um…" Castiel sat back on the couch and started digging through his backpack. "No, Castiel, please wait one moment."

Somehow, the doctor's command got the boy to sit still and look at him. He remained focused and in silence for a good thirty seconds before his feet started jiggling and his hands twisted nervously around themselves.

"How long have you been acting like this?"

Castiel felt confusion creeping over his face and when he answered, it sounded so genuine he surprised himself, "Acting like what?"

The doctor smiled at him. "When did you start talking again?"

Oh shit. Oshitoshitoshit. Was he on the Xanax because he had high anxiety about talking? Is that how he started taking them? More than the amphetamines, he needed the Xanax. He was well aware that his body had a physical addiction to that drug. He needed that drug to stay even remotely human.

The other drugs were just for shits and giggles.

He sat there, thinking about how he was going to get out of this mess. His head dropped, deep in thought, but he couldn't control his extremities. His legs were shaking. He was slowly scratching a hole in the side of his dress pants. He was rocking back and forth again. He wanted to regain control of his twitching. He tried to force himself to stop moving and when he couldn't do it, tears welled in his eyes.

"Castiel, how long have you been shaking like this?"

Castiel didn't answer at first, afraid that if he opened his mouth at all he wouldn't stop. In his mind, normal, logical Castiel started tying up his hyperactive twin, trying to regain some control over this situation. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Over the summer, but it has since gotten worse when my mother died."

"Well we need to do something about them. No wonder you can't focus in school, I'm sure you aren't only distracting yourself, but your peers as well."

An image of Dean sneaking a glance at him during chemistry popped into his mind. Logic Castiel was quick to tear it down and rip it up. He pointed at the imaginary forth wall as if to say, _"Get me those Xanax."_

"Have you ever heard of methamphetamines?"

" _Meth_ amphetamines?" Castiel couldn't help but emphasize. "As in crystal meth?"

The doctor chuckled, and Castiel realized that was exactly what he needed to say. "They are often used to treat ADHD, just like amphetamines, but methamphetamines have a quicker release time."

Tied up Castiel perked up at this, turning to his twin and whining _"Faster high!"_ but logical Castiel smacked him _. "Xanax!"_

"That seems dangerous," Castiel admitted. True, he had seen _Requiem for a Dream_ , and obviously the ending didn't aggrandize drugs, but every moment before told everyone how awesome heroin was. Castiel himself hadn't ever seen _Breaking Bad_ , but meth wasn't exactly on the top of his To Try list. Meth was beautiful girls turned ugly when their hair and teeth fell out.

Meth was Holder from _The Killing_ – so okay, he was kind of cute in an obvious ex-junkie sort of way with his methed raspy voice and his adorable _"Oh honey"_ logic – but meth certainly did things to him.

Castiel sort of really liked having his hair and his teeth and his voice intact for him not to use.

The doctors started going on about how insanely addictive amphetamines were and how a body built up a tolerance over time so the "calm" a person would get from 5mg wouldn't be enough and the person would have to go up to 10mg. However, the risk of Castiel himself becoming dependant was slim. They would start him with a pretty low dose, though maybe more than 5mg just to kick start it. And he had been trusted with other drugs for so long, the doctor was confident that Castiel would take them as recommended which significantly decreased the likelihood that he would become dependent.

"But," Castiel noticed he had picked at one of his hands so much that blood was starting to well from the wound. He stared at the blood, but sat on his other hand, to try and keep it still. "But what effect will it have on the Xanax?"

"Actually, the methamphetamines will cure some of the drowsiness of Xanax. And Xanax will ease any nervousness and tremors caused by the amphetamines."

Castiel had a Xanax in his pocket. He didn't want to mix them this morning, not knowing what the reaction would be. He almost excused himself to take it in the bathroom. Instead, he sat on the couch. He noticed muscle spasms were causing his quadriceps to dance under the flesh at his thigh. He wasn't aware tears were welling in his eyes again until he couldn't see anymore.

"I don't think that I'm… um… comfortable taking methamphetamines."

Logical and tied up Castiel shot a glaring look at the forth wall. The drugged boy began shaking and sobbing, rocking himself back and forth to try and break free. Even logical Castiel looked as if he couldn't believe it. Then he looked around. If it wasn't either of the two of them making decisions around here, who was?

"Just because of the name? Would you be more comfortable taking some sort of regular amphetamines?"

Castiel tried to remain calm, not appear too egger, before he nodded slowly.

Logical Castiel untied amped up Castiel and they high fived.

* * *

 

It had been unnaturally warm for late September during the days leading up to Crowley's party. Dean had commented more than once about Sam's choice of wardrobe, but there was no way he was letting his brother see that he had been marked to go to that party. Maybe if it had been a hot girl, he would brag it up. There was something dangerous about going with Lucifer.

Dean would not approve.

That was, of course, if Lucifer had even actually been serious, which Sam wasn't sure was the case. His friends hadn't said anything about it (except, of course, to mock him ruthlessly), and he hadn't really seen Lucifer except for during lunch.

Where he was currently trying desperately not to stare.

Balthazar and Gabriel had since decided they needed to seduce some senior girls (who were obviously more easy than girls their age – Sam didn't ever seem to follow their logic), so that they could get into Crowley's party.

Balthazar was bitching up a storm, but Gabriel had been increasingly quiet the past few days and was staring at his watch today. Sam would have to be an idiot not to notice.

His mind was screaming not to turn his head to the circle table about ten yards away from where they were sitting. Lucifer had his back to them, so it wasn't like he would notice, but Sam was afraid of the girls the other boy ate with. They had been members of the Lucifer Fanclub for as long as Sam could remember. Gabriel had referred to the three as "Lucifer's Bitches" before, and swore it was how his brother referred to them as well.

They scared Sam.

Lilith had apparently been a friend since preschool, because Gabriel had memories of the girl in his house when he was really young. It seemed like she never really grew up. Even though she was a senior, she was short and had long dark hair. She was like a creepy china doll that moved and walked and talked.

Meg had short blond hair and a leather jacket. She was the kind that would beat you up first and never ask questions. Sam was well aware that she could take him.

Finally, Ruby had curly dark hair. She seemed mostly normal, but her devotion to the boy knew no bounds. Rumor had it, she once went so far for his affection that she trained another boy to a fight against him. Really, though, he had been a sacrifice, a poor sap that just got beaten up and Ruby left arm and arm with Lucifer.

The _last_ thing he needed was for them to insist to the older boy that he was looking at him funny. (In his head, Sam couldn't shake the fact that all three of them sounded like Harley Quinn and referred to Lucifer as Mr. J. He really needed to lay off Arkham City.)

Sam fidgeted with his sleeve, making sure it covered his wrist. Suddenly, something else got his attention. "What are you wearing, Gabriel?"

Gabriel looked down at himself. Now that Sam was thinking about it, did everyone he know wear approximately the same thing? A t-shirt, some sort of button up unbuttoned, and a thicker jacket? Apparently not today. Gabriel looked up and smiled. "It's Michael's track jacket." He turned to face Balthazar, showing Sam his back. It had his last name in large letters.

Sam shot him a strange look – Gabriel, more than any of the other Novaks – hated his last name. He didn't think it was dignified enough. ("We're named after freaking angels and we can't have a decent last name like Milton. I wish Dad had taken Mom's last name.")

Gabriel just smiled and said, "You'll see in 90 seconds." Then, he stood and patted Balthazar on his shoulder. "Well, bro, I'm sorry I have to do this to you, but we're really running out of time and I've got really big plans for Crowley's party. I wish you the absolute best, and I'll find you a girl later."

Balthazar was nearly growling, "What did you do?"

The younger boy just grinned, waved, and walked to the opposite side of the room to buy a Snapple from the machine.

Everything happened so quickly, Sam had a hard time following. Much later, when he had time to think about it, Sam realized it was Gabriel's first solo-mission. And it took him about two years to make a plan that topped this. And to this day, he still wouldn't tell Sam how he did it.

While Gabriel was over at the Snapple machine, there was a loud popping noise. Sam wasn't the only kid to shoot a look at Lucifer's table. In fact, the lunch room went silent and every head turned to look at the boy.

He was standing with his arms out, and his head down. It was like a picture had been taken; Lucifer stood there for a second completely still, as if he were trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, until suddenly he let out a growl from deep, deep in his chest that sent goosebumps over Sam's arms. Lucifer slammed his fist down on the table. More than any time before, the younger boy felt the need to get out of the room.

Lucifer quickly turned and faced them, and if Sam wasn't so afraid, he would have laughed. The pop must have been a firecracker that had been placed in his mashed potatoes. The gooey bits of the fake (instantly processed) vegetable clung to his face and hair and shirt. He made a quick motion to get it off his face, but it didn't help much.

Upon spotting his brother's table, he noticed only one was present. Balthazar stood on shaky legs, fear shining in his eyes as his arms shot slightly behind him, leaning forward, as if he were about to be tackled at any moment. A stance of a fighting angel, using his wings to support him.

"Oh, Balthazar," Lucifer grinned, mirroring his brother's fighting stance. _"Hath Job fear God for naut?_ I will make you fear me, brother."

Balthazar took a step back, raising his palms, trying to seem defenseless. Lucifer was older; his wings were bigger. If Sam thought he was whining before, it didn't come close to comparing to the tone of his voice when he cried, "Brother, please." His _speech impediment_ only helped to mirror the tone of the other deified little brother he was quoting. Even Loki couldn't deliver the line as pathetically as Balthazar.

Of course it was to no avail. Lucifer grinned, baring his teeth, and ran at his brother. Balthazar took off running down the hall. A few of the lunch monitors ran out after them, and Gabriel made his way from the back of the room with his arms up in victory. There was applause from the lunch room – not that people hated Lucifer. Fear maybe, but not hate – but because he got his brother good, and blamed his other. A prank worthy of applause.

Gabriel made a gesture to calm them down, which made them roar louder. Then he pumped his fist in the air and there wasn't a way the mass of cheering could be louder. This time, when he gestured them to calm down, they did. Sam had no idea how the other boy played a crowd that well, but he always had been able to.

Most of the lunch room went back to their food, but the youngest Novak approached the three seniors at Lucifer's table, who looked very much amused at the prank. Gabriel pulled up a fresh chair in between Meg and Ruby and offered each of the girls a lollipop. They took it with giggles. He only talked to them for about a minute, but by the end, he stood, unzipped his jacket, and bared his neck. Each girl got out some lipstick and put it on. One by one, they kissed his neck (Ruby on the left, Meg on the right, and Lilith at the junction where his neck met his shoulder), then signed their name.

He was very obviously marked by three seniors to go to Crowley's party. Three.

Gabriel wrote something on a piece of paper, passed it to Meg and stood, leaving the girls with grins, giggles, and lollipops. As his friend walked past, he made a small gesture with his hand to get him to come with him. Sam stood, grabbing his, Balthazar's, and Gabriel's junk and followed the other boy down the hall to the bathroom.

By the time his friend pushed the door open, his hands were shaking. He rushed to the mirror and studied his reflection.

There were always a few moments in life where the true nature of a person's character was revealed. While Gabriel studied the kisses on his neck – most likely the first he'd ever had – Sam wondered how his friend would act. Would he get all prideful? Would he get bashful? Deep, deep down, who was Gabriel?

His best friend turned and gave Sam a somewhat tentative smile, before it erupted in a full out grin. "Tell me you saw the look on Luci and Bale's faces!"

Deep, deep down, Gabriel Novak would always be a trickster.

* * *

 

On Friday, the night of Crowley's party, Dean had his first chemistry test. To say he was nervous wouldn't entirely be fair. He had all but got on his knees to beg Castiel to come over to his house Thursday night to help him study.

Castiel had agreed, and several hours later, the boy knocked on the door at the Winchester's home with a chemistry book under his arm.

Castiel hadn't taken any other recreational drugs since the day he took the Adderall. Not that it had been long, but he was feeling incredibly sober with just Xanax. He kind of liked the feeling, besides the small black dots on the edges of his vision, begging him to take something: heroin, amphetamines, ecstasy, anything.

A man he didn't recognize answered the door. A big man, with a beard, who he took to be Dean's father. Castiel blinked slowly, painfully aware he would have to talk to a stranger mostly completely sober. Though, the other man didn't seem like he was in a giant hurry to talk either. Instead, they seemed to stand there, sizing each other up.

It made Castiel very uncomfortable, very sure that the other man could take him in a fight.

Dean came stomping down the stairs after a few moments and quickly started shooing his father away. He held the door open for his friend and tried to usher him upstairs before anything else could be said, but it was too late.

"Who is your friend, Dean?"

"Castiel Novak," the son responded, and his friend was more than grateful that he would not have to speak unless directly spoken too. "He's my lab partner, dad. I told you I had someone coming over to help me study tonight."

John still looked uncomfortable. Dean put a hand on Castiel's back and tried to physically shove him up the stairs. He took the hint and started climbing.

"How come I haven't ever met him before?"

"Jesus Christ, dad. I'm eighteen years old."

Castiel wasn't sure if he should continue climbing or not, so he did, but he stayed at the top of the stairs, still listening. Perhaps he and Dean could take on the big man. He doubted it, but he at least wanted to make sure his friend was safe.

"It doesn't matter how old you are, Dean. You are still my son."

"His name is Castiel Novak. He lives about twenty minutes closer to the school if you're walking. He's got like a hundred brothers, super Christian family, not sure what denomination. Sammy hangs out with his little brothers all the time. I went to Michael and Lucifer's birthday party in third grade. You know the family."

Castiel wondered if Dean truly had gone to his brothers' birthday party. A lot of his childhood was blank, but suddenly, a memory rushed back to him. He was sitting in the top of the slide, hiding from the other kids at the playground. He peeked out from the side to look at his brother, Michael, who frequently took him to the park. Michael waved at him, to let him know he was still there. Michael's friend waved too.

Dean.

Dean and Michael were once close?

Castiel felt another body with him in the hallway. Sam was out of his room and looking down at Dean, who was trying really hard not to yell at their obviously inebriated father. The younger boy's eyes shot up to meet Castiel's, like he was searching for something.

"You here to study?"

Castiel nodded, but he wasn't sure what else to do. Sam just nodded and loudly said, "Oh hey, Cas. What's up?" Castiel had only ever had his name shortened by Dean (and Gabriel often called him Cassie, which didn't bother him as much as it should have, but then again, if Lucifer could tolerate his pet name, Castiel sure wouldn't bitch about his). He was still trying to figure out whether or not he enjoyed Sam giving him the affectionate nickname as well, when he realized he should answer the question. The younger Winchester seemed to figure that Castiel had no intention of answering, because he skipped down the stairs laughing. "Yeah. Chemistry's dumb."

When he reached the bottom step, he patted Dean on the shoulder. "Cas is up there waiting for you, man. Dad, you wanna watch TV or something?"

When Castiel saw John move into the other room, he noticed the way Dean placed his hand on his brother's face. Affection. In fact, Castiel would go so far as to say that it wasn't just affection. The Winchester brothers truly loved each other.

Somewhere deep in his torso, Castiel felt as though someone had a fist around an organ and squeezed.

Dean started climbing the stairs and pointed at which room was his. Castiel led them into the room.

Once inside, he was genuinely curious as to what color Dean's walls were. Every inch of the walls were covered with either posters, magazine cut outs, or photographs. Many posters were of old bands, muscle cars, and half naked girls. A very typical eighteen-year-old's room, Castiel thought.

Dean's bed was made and he walked past Castiel to sit on it. He opened his chemistry book and flipped it to the beginning of the first chapter.

"So, I think I'm okay with knowing mass and protons and neutrons and stuff, but I'm not sure about acids and bases…" Dean looked up at his friend, who was still staring about his room. Dean let a small smile play at his lips before he dropped his head back to his book. He wondered what Castiel's bedroom looked like. Certainly, with the degree of religiousness that his family was, the other boy had probably missed out on a lot of the quintessentials of growing up.

He suddenly wondered if the other boy was a virgin. He wasn't sure why the thought stuck with him so profoundly, but he tried to shake it from his head.

"Cas…"

Castiel looked up at him. Dean raised his eyebrows, trying to get the other boy to help him, but Castiel misinterpreted the look.

"You have a lot of posters," Castiel stated.

Dean just put a knowing I'm-used-to-this smile on his face and gestured to the bed. Castiel sat down, his feet dangling over the edge. It took Dean a couple more attempts to get the other boy to pay attention and start explaining things to him. Once he got into it and comfortable in his surroundings, he chatted mostly normally about chemistry.

He even politely ignored Dean's rumbling stomach for almost half an hour. Until finally, the sound mixed with Dean's pained expression finally had him speaking up.

"Do you wish to stop and take a break for food, Dean?"

Dean just shook his head. He wouldn't look up from his book. "No, I'm good. Let's just… I'm not sure about this."

Castiel knew enough about blood sugar, based on his fake diabetes, to notice Dean had classic symptoms of low blood sugar. Knowing the boy always ate at lunch, Castiel wondered if he had anything to eat since then. School lunches weren't exactly enough to keep an eighteen-year-old boy full for a few hours, let alone an entire day.

"I find that I am getting hungry as well," Castiel tried, thinking the human compulsion to not offend a guest would be greater than whatever reason Dean had to not eat.

"Well, princess," Dean snapped, "you'll have to go home to eat because we sure as shit don't have any food here."

The second the words left his mouth, Dean hung his head and placed it in his hands, ashamed. Before he could say anything, Castiel dug in his pockets to find money. He had three dollar bills and a dollar sixty in change.

"I have enough for two whopper juniors and maybe a value fry," the smaller boy held the money out to his friend.

"I don't want your money, Cas."

Castiel was repulsed by money. It was dirty and it made his hands smell. But he kept the money in one hand, the other one reaching out to pat Dean's shoulder in an effort he hoped to be comforting.

"My mother died recently. I'm sure my brothers told you. Our father has been gone for a little more than a year. My older brothers work, but we don't have money anymore," Castiel's hand stopped patting and planted itself on Dean's forearm. "This is all I have. I've spent everything else. Soon, I will have to sell my stuff if I want pocket change. Or, I suppose, get a job."

Dean looked up, trying to hide the tears in his eyes.

"My brothers don't realize how bad it is. The younger ones don't understand at all, and Lucifer is frivolous by nature. The older ones are working just to keep us all fed and…" He couldn't bring himself to say medicated. He was well aware his Xanax and amphetamines cost his brothers real money. Saying how poor they had become out loud was embarrassing.

"The house was already paid for, or I'm sure we'd be…"

Dean put his hand over the money and Castiel's hand. Somehow, knowing that four dollars and sixty cents was all they had to their name should have been more profound. They should save it until they were starving, but the gesture was too nice to pass up. Dean dug in his pockets, counted the change and said, "Maybe we can get two value fries."

Castiel smiled and shoved the money toward Dean. This time, the other boy took it. Dean pocketed it and opened his window.

"We're going to sneak out?"

"Yeah. Can't leave or my dad will see. Besides, what's a date at Burger King without a little bit of danger and romance?" Dean grinned at his friend, already out the window. He was standing on the roof of his front porch. He held out his hand to Castiel. "Come on. Be brave, and I'll get you a flower or something." Castiel took his friend's hand a little hesitantly and hopped out next to Dean.

Castiel landed with his knees bent, but knew he put his weight too far back. Instead of landing on his butt, Dean tugged his arm and pulled him close, steadying the boy with his other hand, but quickly let go to show Castiel how to get down from here. He reached a tree branch, pulled himself up and walked across to the trunk. He climbed down from there on ladder rungs he placed up there when he was a child. Once safely on the ground, Castiel tried his luck with the tree.

The younger boy didn't care for heights, so he didn't stand up on the branch. Instead, he crawled on his hands and knees to the trunk. He slowly found a rung and lowered himself. About five feet from the ground, he missed a rung and slipped. Instead of colliding with the hard ground, about a foot down his back hit a warmer, softer object.

Dean oomphed, but he caught him. The older boy chuckled and steadied his friend once again, rubbing his chest. Castiel barely managed to refrain from touching it to assess damage.

"Did I hurt you?"

"If you ever get in a fight, throw with your elbow," Dean smiled. Castiel smiled back. "It gets easier, you'll see."

Castiel wondered how many times Dean thought the two of them would be sneaking into and out of the Winchesters' home. They made the easy trek a few blocks away to the local Burger King. They both got whopper juniors and value fries, as planned, but Dean teased his friend on his special order. ("No tomatoes, no pickles, and extra onions, Cas? Seriously?" "I like onions." "Well you can forget a goodnight kiss, then.") But at first, they ate in mostly silence.

The drugs did things to Castiel's appetite. Typically, he did survive on breakfast and sometimes lunch. He ate most of the whopper, but let Dean eat more than half his fries. The Winchester boy ate really quickly – finishing all of his food by the time Castiel ate half his burger – and Castiel had the feeling he had always grown up having to eat fast or risk getting it taken away. After all, if he had any food left when Sam was done and the younger boy eyeballed his food, Dean would go hungry. Anything for his brother.

Castiel wondered if one of his brothers would give up anything for him. And when he really thought about it, he didn't think a single one of them would.

Castiel gave him his fries to hold him over. Between bites, Castiel would give Dean the chemical formulas of household items for him to guess.

"NaCl."

"Salt."

"CH3COOH and H2O."

"Um…" Dean licked his finger free of salt. "Is that vinegar?"

"Yes. Very good, Dean," Castiel paused for a moment, before spitting out, "C21H23NO5." He rightly figured that Dean wouldn't know that one. He ate the rest of his burger in silence. He rolled up the wrapper and tossed it back in the bag before Dean gave up.

And when he asked what it was, Castiel suddenly realized he shouldn't have even given the formula to his friend. To know the chemical equation was a step past drug use and a step toward I-thought-about-manufacturing-myself.

"Cas?"

But he couldn't just say nothing. "Heroin."

"Hm," was all Dean said at first. Then, after he thought about it for a minute, a smile spread onto his face. "Is there anything you don't know, Cas?"

Castiel looked down. There were, of course, many things he didn't know. He didn't know where his father was, let alone if he were alive. He didn't know what would happen to him and his brothers if they continued to fight like this. He didn't know a single damn thing about Dean Winchester.

And for some reason, the last thing he didn't know bothered him the most.

"I know nothing."

Dean chuckled at him and checked his watch. "We should probably get back soon. I can't guarantee how long Sam can fend off my dad."

As they threw their garbage away and started walking back toward Dean's home, Castiel cleared his throat. Dean stole a glance, but Castiel wouldn't meet his gaze. "I am sorry about your home life. You shouldn't have to starve."

Dean shrugged. "At least I still have a parent, I guess. I'm sorry about your mom."

"I may still have a father," Castiel reminded him, arms crossing in front of him to keep the heat in his body. "But I don't know if that's any better or worse."

Dean nodded in silent agreement.

When they got back to the tree, Dean suggested that Castiel should go first. If he slipped, Dean could try and catch him. Castiel thought it was a nice gesture, but doubted that Dean would have any real effect on a body falling from twenty feet in the air. They didn't need to test it out because Castiel made it across fine.

Dean stepped up, but suddenly remembered something and ran across the street. Castiel couldn't see what he was doing; he blended into the dark by the time he hit the middle of the road. Semi-panicked that he was abandoned, Castiel felt himself scooting until his back hit the side of the house. The window was kind of high up. He wasn't sure he could make it up without a boost.

"Dean!" It was meant to come out as a yell, but it came out as a loud whisper at best.

"Hang on, Cas. I'm coming," the bigger boy was back at the base of the tree, and soon enough, Castiel could see his form balancing across the trunk. Finally, he jumped on the roof of the porch and in three quick strides he was standing in front of his friend.

Castiel wasn't sure when he had crouched to fetal position on the roof or when he had put his arms up over his head, but when he felt Dean near him, he opened his eyes and looked up. He had to take a moment to focus his eyes on what was being held down to him.

A pink flower.

Castiel grabbed the flower and slowly stood up, his eyes growing wide. It was the single most beautiful thing anyone had ever given him.

"It's a primrose."

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. How do you know that?"

"I read _The Hunger Games_."

Dean shrugged again. "What's that?"

Castiel smelled the flower. It was so white and pink that it seemed to glow in the dark. It was truly beautiful. And thinking back on it, he could hardly remember a single other present he had received in his life. As the warm feeling spread throughout his body, he suddenly remembered Dean was still standing in front of him. He probably thought of it as a joke, and Castiel was aware that his genuine reaction would make it awkward for his friend.

When he looked up, Dean was smiling. It appeared soft and genuine, but Castiel felt something. Something else in the way they were standing there, looking at each other, and assumed it was awkward for Dean.

Suddenly, Castiel smirked and pushed at Dean. He dropped his voice even lower, mimicking Dean (though Dean himself would claim he sounded nothing like that), and said, "'Stop with the chick flick moment.' Right?"

Dean's eyebrows creased, taken aback. "What?"

"That's what you would say to me. No chick flick moments. Thanks for the primrose, Dean. Will you give me a boost?"

Dean still looked confused for a second, until Castiel put the stem of the flower in his mouth, turned the face the window, and made an attempt to climb up himself. He was right. He couldn't do it on his own. Dean put his hands under his friends shoe and gave him a boost. Once Castiel was inside, Dean jumped up and let himself in.

Castiel was gently putting the flower down gently on Dean's desk.

Suddenly, looking around his room, Dean was embarrassed of his posters. Specifically, the ones of the girls. He had this guy in his room who was uber-religious (though to be fair, Dean hadn't ever actually heard him talk about religion), and he was looking at this flower he ripped out of his neighbor's garden like it was some sort of holy sign from God. And he had to sit in a room with half naked chicks.

And for the first time, Dean realized he had someone else to look at, that he would _rather_ look at, than those half naked girls. Someone he was genuinely interested in as a human being.

"Hey, uh, Cas?"

Castiel looked up at him.

"Are you going to Crowley's party?"

His friend shrugged. "I'm a junior."

Dean looked down and flipped through his chemistry book. Anything to not look at Castiel's too blue eyes. "Well, I don't have any friends who are seniors. Honestly, you're kind of my only friend. So if you want to go, we can go." Dean looked back up, hoping he didn't look too desperate.

"Do you mean to say that you won't go if I don't go with you?"

"I don't know," Dean said, looking back down. "But I have no one else to ask."

Castiel nodded, "Okay then."

Dean looked up. "Okay then?"

"Sure. I will go with you to Crowley's party."

Dean tried to hide the relieved smile, but Castiel saw it anyway. He quickly took out his phone and sent a message to Crowley, letting him know that he found someone else to sign him so he was free to invite someone else. He hit send, knowing the emotional response it would have on Crowley.

It was for the better.

Castiel dropped the phone in his lap and leaned over the textbook, making sure Dean's definition of _equilibrium_ was accurate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel’s pole dance (it seems sort of sacrilegious to write that…) is to “Bad Girlfriend” by Theory of a Deadman.


	4. Coming Alive

**Chapter 4: "Coming Alive"**

**Part I: "What it Takes."**

Sam assumed he wasn't going. Lucifer hadn't even looked at him all week, but the younger boy couldn't just wash the Sharpie off either. He would do that tonight when he was sitting alone in his room with nobody to talk to because Gabriel and Balthazar and Dean would all be gone to a party he had the stupid misfortune of thinking he was invited to.

It wasn't uncommon for his friends to change seats in lunch, so when Gabriel sat his tray down on the wrong side of Sam on Friday afternoon, the Winchester boy just assumed it was because Balthazar was still pissed at him for sicking their psychotic older brother on him.

Then Gabriel gripped his forearm and pulled his sleeve up, revealing Lucifer's tag; Sam tried to pull away, annoyed and embarrassed. He shot a glare at his friend. But it wasn't Gabriel.

Lucifer shot him a glare back and Sam stopped fighting. The boy rolled up his sleeve and saw that the tag was only slightly faded. The other boy must have gone to pretty good lengths not to accidentally wash it off. Satisfied, Lucifer let go of the boy, who quickly rolled his sleeve back down. The older boy started eating.

"So what are you going to wear tonight?"

Sam shrugged. "This?"

With food halfway to his mouth, his hand hid half of the smirk. The part that was showing looked deadly. "Oh, honey. No, Sam, you won't be wearing that. Tonight you are my wingman, so that means it is your job – nay, your mission in life – to hang out, get drunk, and chat me up to girls so I can get laid. None of those three things can be done wearing that. Except get drunk, but then you'd just be a drunken lumberjack at best."

Sam felt his neck get warmer and hoped his blush was mostly contained to his chest where Lucifer couldn't see it. "I don't have anything suitable for a party then," the younger boy huffed.

Lucifer just shrugged and said, "I figured as much. I need a new shirt anyway. We'll make a pit stop at the mall before we go to the party. Pick you up at seven?"

What do you say to that? Sam wondered. So he just nodded. When Balthazar and Gabriel joined them from the lunch line, Lucifer complemented Gabriel on his metrosexual use of a scarf when it was pushing eighty out, but Sam was sure Gabriel's brother knew what he was really hiding.

Balthazar refused to talk to any of them, but when he stood to throw away his garbage, he had to hunch over for a minute before straightening up. When he left, Gabriel informed them that he had a pretty big fist-sized bruise on his stomach.

Lucifer just laughed as he stuffed some fries into his mouth.

* * *

Like the Fourth of July fireworks, there wasn't really a set time that a high school party began. At least, people never said. Everyone knew they started when it was pitch black outside – an hour after sunset. Dean had asked Castiel if he had ever drank alcohol before and when the boy responded with a truthful negative, Dean insisted they eat something loaded with grease to avoid getting sick.

Which, ironically, almost made Castiel sick.

They snuck into Castiel's room from the bedroom window at about seven. Dean was abandoned in his friend's room, flipping through the Bible he found on the end-table. Mostly, he was looking at the white walls and figured he was trapped in an asylum. The younger boy had nothing in his room except the bed, a night stand, a bookshelf, a dresser, and a keyboard set up in the corner but it was half buried under clothes. Dean couldn't help but notice the primrose he picked for the Castiel sitting in a vase on his dresser. The older boy refused to think about what that meant.

Castiel came back about ten minutes later, hair still dripping wet onto his old t-shirt. He made his way to the closet to find something to wear, but left the door slightly ajar. Dean was about to speak up, ask about the room, but he paused when he heard a passive aggressive battle going on in the hallway. Castiel ushered Dean to the other side of the door to avoid being seen.

"Where are you going, Lucifer?"

Dean recognized Michael's voice. Word on the street from the younger Novaks was that the fighting had stopped. Michael had somehow beaten out his older brothers for control over the family. They were sketchy on the details, but one day, Michael just stepped up and the others – the _elders_ – listened and obeyed.

"Just to the mall," through the crack in the door, Castiel could see his brother throwing on a white track jacket.

"Crowley's party is tonight," Michael informed him.

"Is it, brother?" Lucifer asked innocently. "I thought such inequity would not be your style. But I suppose have fun. I'm spending the night at a friend's house. Azazel, you remember him from church? At lunch we had a pretty heated disagreement about Leviticus. We plan on studying until we can determine who is right."

Dean heard keys jingle and the front door open. Before the younger twin could leave, Michael called after him. "Brother, you are forbidden to go to the senior party. We must follow the Lord, not fall into the thralls of Satan. If I find out that you are at that party…"

"Oh, ye of little faith, brother. I may be named for the devil, but he was an angel once too. Do not judge me on a name I can't control."

"I am not judging you on your name, Lucifer. I know you. And I am telling you that there will be consequences for disobeying an order."

Two doors simultaneously slammed: the front door and the door to Michael and Lucifer's bedroom. Castiel quietly shut his door as well.

"Why didn't they tell you not to go?" Dean asked, sitting on the edge of his friend's bed.

"I am a junior. If it crosses their mind to warn me at all, it will not be until next year," Castiel went back to his closet, trying to find something to wear. "They think I'm…" he tried to come up with a word that encompassed slow, mute, dumb, and emotionally unstable all rolled up into one. He came up with "… loyal."

"But you're not?"

"I speak to God," Castiel answered cryptically. "I know what makes me feel closer to Him and sitting at home praying with my brothers does not." He held up a shirt, studied it, and dropped it on the floor beside him. "Our Fathers don't talk to my brothers, either. They should get off their high horses and stop acting like they know what the Fathers want."

Dean was actually surprised by Castiel's rant. It was the first time they had ever talked religion, and Dean had always figured that the younger boy was God-fearing. Or was he? Dean wasn't really sure anymore.

"So do you think Lucifer isn't going?" Dean asked.

Castiel shot him a grin. "Lucifer will definitely be there." He held up a shirt to himself, again, and asked, "Perhaps before I choose a shirt, you should choose a place to tag me."

Dean wished he could say he hadn't thought of it. When he was a freshman, he had dreamed of tagging girls all over the place: collarbone, side, shoulder, lower back. Now that he was going with a boy – a _friend_ – he couldn't think of a place that wouldn't be oddly sexual.

Except maybe the knuckles.

Dean shrugged. An arm seemed innocent enough.

He gestured for his friend to join him on the bed. Castiel, at least, was smart enough to grab a Sharpie first. Dean held up his right arm as if he was waving, and Castiel mimicked with his right. In decent sized lettering, he wrote his name upright, but down Castiel's arm. It went from the boy's wrist to about halfway to his elbow. Large enough to know who the boy belonged to, but in a way that could be completely heterosexual. They wouldn't receive glances.

He put the top back on the Sharpie, and Castiel moved to look at himself in the mirror. It was strange though. To look, he put his hands behind his head and put his elbows out from his body, as if he were checking the angle of something Dean didn't understand.

The shorter boy turned and smiled. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean just nodded and smiled.

* * *

Luckily, Dean and John were both gone when Sam heard a horn beep outside his house around quarter after seven. He was quick to run outside, locking the door behind him.

Sam was really surprised to see that Lucifer was driving a very old Bentley. A 1926 black Bentley. There may have only been one of them still running in the world, and this car was not Lucifer Novak's.

The younger boy ran around to the far side of the car – the steering wheel was on the right in the British car – and pulled the door open very carefully, afraid he may destroy the vintage car by merely touching it. However, for being a little more than a decade shy of a century year old, the car was insanely well kept. He sat down, shut the door, and went to buckle his seatbelt.

There were no seatbelts.

Lucifer took off like he stole the car. At the very least, he drove like he wasn't worried about crashing and killing them both. Which, if they didn't die in the death trap of the car, they would be murdered by the owner for destroying the irreplaceable antique.

"Did you steal Crowley's car?" Sam asked, trying not to sound too judgmental, but it came out with a dangerously accusing tone.

Lucifer just roared with laughter. "Samuel, you break my heart. Crowley and I are old… friends. I don't have a car and needed a way to the mall. I've borrowed this piece of garbage many times."

Sam had a bad feeling about almost everything the other boy has said. First, the name – he almost hated Samuel more than Sammy. Second, everyone knew that Crowley and Lucifer were tolerant of each other. Basically, Crowley wanted to be the God of high school. Lucifer was. Crowley played nice, but secretly wished for the death of the king. Everyone knew that. Sam was genuinely surprised that it was the third offence that got him talking.

"Piece of garbage isn't fair. You know how many of these there are in the world? It's nothing short of a miracle that she's in this condition," Sam pat the dash gently, still not convinced she wouldn't fall apart. "Beautiful, really."

"Ooh, Sammy has a car fetish," Lucifer took his eyes off the road for a moment to glace at the boy in the passenger seat, a small smile playing on his lips.

Sam shook his head. "My brother's a mechanic. Granted, it's a British car, so I'm not sure why we ever talked about the Bentley. Everything is almost dead to him if it isn't a 1960-something Chevrolet."

The younger boy was painfully aware he was talking about his older brother, something he was positive the other boy didn't care about. So he let a comfortable silence fall between them. Lucifer had other plans and quickly stuck his hand out to turn on some music.

" _We are the champions, my friends.  
And we'll keep on fighting 'til the end."_  


"Before you even say anything about the _Queen_ , it's not my fault," Lucifer stated. "It's the best of _Queen_ for Crowley 24/7. The Bentley is possessed or demonic or something."

Sam nodded. "I don't really mind _Queen_ , just so long as it isn't stuck in my head all day."

Lucifer laughed. "For me, that's _Stairway to Heaven_. I hear it once and it's in there forever. I have to sing it to myself fifty times to get it out, I swear. Like clockwork."

They arrived at the mall shortly after _Killer Queen_ ended.

After walking in and out of three stores, Sam learned something really important about Lucifer. He was hyperaware of products. He didn't want a shirt from JC Penny's or Macy's, because he wanted something more "designer" than Calvin Klein or Tommy Hilfiger. He didn't want one from Abercrombie and Fitch or Hollister because he wanted to seem actually rich, not just like wanted the other kids to think he was rich. And a man named after the angel who fell from Grace to become the devil stood outside Hot Topic for about thirty seconds. He saw through the window a black button up shirt that he thought he would like, but ultimately wouldn't go inside.

Instead, they sat in the food court, eating pizza and chocolate shakes.

"So like, you want an Armani, Gucci, or Louie Vuitton dress shirt. You're well aware you won't find one in this mall. Or any mall in America, probably. They are designer for a reason."

Lucifer made a sound but otherwise didn't respond. For some reason, Sam was becoming less afraid of the reckless teen the more he saw him panic over clothing. The younger boy wasn't sure why Lucifer cared so much, but he wasn't about to ask him questions. Except for the one they had not addressed.

"What should I wear?"

Lucifer shrugged. "I'll know it when I see it."

And that was exactly how it happened. Sam wasn't sure what store they were even in anymore; they had gone in and out of that many. The younger boy had been looking for a suitable dress shirt for the other boy, but when he heard his name called from a t-shirt section, he realized that he was the only one looking for a shirt for Lucifer.

The other boy was holding the material out in front of him, eyeing it with such intense curiosity, Sam was sure it was about to combust. When he felt the smaller boy approaching, he turned and held it up to his chest.

It was a light peach color, about the same shade as his skin. Sam noted it would be a little bit tight, if he didn't go a size bigger, but he was sure that was the point. It had black line art that seemed to start around the left shoulder. The lines swirled and danced around, going to the hem of the shirt. There was no other color to the shirt, and Sam knew without trying it on that the intent of the shirt was to look as if he had no shirt on at all, but a full chest tattoo of solid black, tribal lines. The lines wrapped around his side under his arm, and back up to have the same design on the back.

It would be a very painful tattoo, but at least he was allowed to wear a shirt. Balthazar's girl had been insisting he not wear one.

"Should I try it on?"

Lucifer shrugged, still way too focused on the shirt. Sam got this creepy feeling that Lucifer was trying to imagine the design on a human body. The younger boy really hoped that it wasn't his.

Sam felt bad about the other boy paying, but felt worse knowing that it would already be a tight fit and that he would fully outgrow it in a matter of two to six months. He was already on to Dean's hand-me-downs from tenth grade and it didn't seem like the growing pains ever went away.

After every other store in the mall, they stopped in some tux place because they would obviously have black dress shirts. And they did. After trying on two, Lucifer found the third one to be tight enough to be nearly shameless, without the risk of actually splitting it in the back or popping off buttons when he moved.

Sam wasn't completely sure, but appeared that his pilot had a decent amount of muscle under the fabric.

He picked out a red, silk tie and put it on. Sam stood behind him in the mirror, trying to really hard to decide if he should call him Billie Joe Armstrong or Gerard Way, until Lucifer smoothed the collar back down and put the white track jacket he had been wearing all day over it. He popped that collar and started adjusting his body so he could see himself at different angles.

Sam hadn't ever noticed the white track jacket before, other than to notice it must be a favorite of the other boy because he always seemed to be in it. It was unnaturally white for how long Lucifer must have owned it. On the back, there was a line pattern in blue, sort of similar to the one Sam would be wearing, but entirely different.

Lucifer's lines made ice blue wings down his back.

When the other boy turned to look at him, he noticed that he had his name – just his first name – written on the jacket over his chest. Sam didn't hear him ask what he thought of it at first. He just nodded. Lucifer smirked and turned back to the mirror. Sam was well aware the other boy was watching him in the mirror as he let the jacket slide off his shoulders, dropped it on the floor, and started to remove the tie (incredibly slowly, Sam thought).

"Wait," Sam breathed as the other boy started unbuttoning the shirt. He saw Lucifer's smile in the mirror, and Sam stuck out his tongue to lick his lips. "It should be blue. The tie, I mean. It should be the same color as the wings. Or maybe white. But definitely not red because it doesn't match."

The other boy looked in the mirror for another second, and when he decided Sam was right, he swore and stormed off to the changing room, unbuttoning the shirt as he walked. By the time he got there, the shirt was almost three-quarters of the way open.

And Sam really, really didn't want to think about the reasons why that made him uncomfortable.

* * *

Crowley dug out more ice from the bin under the bar with his bare hands and placed them in the on-the-rocks glass. His hands were wet from something, and one cube grasped painfully to his skin. With a wince, he tore off the ice and plopped it in with its brothers. He tilted the bottle, hardly paying attention to the liquid pouring out. He filled it too full, but he just capped the bottle, put it back on the shelf, and drank the excess so the glass was filled to a more dignified level.

On second thought, Crowley drank all of that, got the bottle back out, poured it to the proper level, then capped the bottle and put it back on the shelf.

Bullocks, Crowley thought. This stupid party will be the death of him.

In fact, the teenager didn't have to do too much. The seniors the year before pick where the party will be the following year based on wealth and parental leniency. Crowley knew when he was a freshman that he would host this party. He was the embodiment of everything a good party needed.

He put his hands on either side of the glass, staring at it as if it were trying to give him some sort of advice. The cops wouldn't show up; they never have before. In fact, the cops would only show up down the street, where they parked and listened to the thumping bass, if they noticed someone driving away from the party.

But nobody ever drove to or from a party.

The British teen could not figure out, exactly, what the feeling was inside of him. And every time he got close, conjuring the images of himself looking down at a mop of black hair and deep blue eyes, he would push the thoughts away. He denied himself. As he had always done.

He drank the rest of this scotch, too. And filled it up again.

This time, he let out a sigh, picked up the glass, and walked to the stairs. "Show time."

* * *

By the time Dean and Castiel snuck out of the window to walk the two blocks to Crowley's house, the music was already playing. Or at least, it would have been two blocks away if Castiel didn't lead them into the woods. He insisted it was a short cut, and the older boy had to trust him. The Novaks had been living in that house forever. After two or three minutes, they could hear the low buzzing of people talking and singing and laughing. They started climbing a fairly steep hill. Dean was just about to complain when the hill became sort of a plateau. Another minute later they broke through the barrier of trees and saw the whole hive was vibrating with lights and sounds.

It wasn't like a party Dean had ever been to before, and he had crashed his fair share of parties. The lights illuminating the back field looked like the same ones from the football stadium, but much lower. It lit a one-hundred foot squared patch behind Crowley's house, behind the in-ground pool and deck, where people were already swimming. A man stood in front of the back porch with a list. Apparently only VIPs were allowed inside.

They were still in the shadows – they would have to climb down the hill to reach the party – and the view was breathtaking. Already, bodies grinded against each other in time with the pulsing beat. The music was quieter up here, but the voice and bass would be nice background noise to whichever lucky couple snagged this spot first. Or any couple who snagged it after the aforementioned couple was done with it.

Castiel led the charge down the hill like he had climbed down this slope a hundred times and wasn't afraid of slipping. Dean followed more hesitantly after.

For a little while, probably all of thirty minutes, Castiel stayed close. He let Dean get him a drink, but didn't like the beer so he pushed it back. The older boy shrugged and dumped it in his red cup. After a little hesitation and a lot of bottle reading, Castiel decided on cake flavored vodka mixed with coke.

Dean watched him take his first and second sips as they found a seat. The older boy thought they were content, watching the night start. More and more people filed in, and soon it was a hot, sticky mess on the yard-turned-dance floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean noticed Castiel shift to get something out of his pocket. He held something in his hand for a second, using the pointer finger on his other hand to count something.

Dean figured they were pills when Castiel put them in his mouth and took a long drink from his cup. Poor guy. It was going to be a long night if he was already getting a headache.

They sat back for another ten minutes. Dean wasn't exactly sure if it happened slowly or if all at once his friend exploded, but one minute everything seemed normal and the next his friend's feet were tapping double-time to the beat of the dance remix. And that's saying something – this song was pretty damn fast.

"You okay, Cas?" Dean half-yelled over the music.

Castiel's whole body seemed to be alight with electricity and power and life. It was like the music completely overpowered him and he couldn't stand still any longer. He downed the rest of his drink in a few short gulps and stood.

"Do you want to dance?" The other boy's smile was too wide, his eyes too dull. He must be getting drunk already.

"I don't dance," Dean insisted.

So Castiel shrugged and left, practically skipping to the dance floor before getting lost in the bodies. Dean was suddenly very aware how alone he was, so he tipped his cup up and sulked.

* * *

Lucifer turned the wheel with his palm as he pulled into driveway of the party. The garage door opened, and he slowly parked the car inside the protective barrier. By the time he killed the engine, Crowley was at the door.

When Lucifer got out, he slammed the door. Sam shut it far more gently, trying his hardest not to draw attention to himself. He was doing a wonderful job so far. The British boy seemed to be trying really hard not to stare daggers at the other senior.

And he was failing.

"What's your problem, Tony?" Lucifer smirked.

Crowley tried to hide a cringe – well aware that any physical sign of displeasure would cause the other boy to use the nickname more – but he was failing at that too. Sam wasn't even sure if it was Crowley's real first name.

He wasn't even sure if Crowley had a first name. He had always assumed it was Mister.

Before Crowley could actually speak, Lucifer was walking over to the passenger side. Sam stepped aside before the older boy could physically move him out of the way. He pulled open the door again, and lifted up the seat cushion. Sam couldn't see what the other boy was doing in the car, but he immerged twenty seconds later, handing the younger boy a briefcase. Lucifer put the cushion back, slammed the door, and gestured to Crowley.

Sam gave the suitcase to the British teen.

Crowley took it with the same sort of devious smile that the Snake had on his face as Eve took the first bite of fruit in the Garden. The older boy bent his elbow, hiding his grin with a sip of the scotch. When he stopped drinking, it was still there.

"Well, Lucifer, who is your new little puppy?"

Sam hung his head in shame. He wasn't fully sure why he wanted his friends' older brother to like him as a human being – maybe because he was older, he was cool – but he was a _puppy_ at best. At worse, he was a slave. He suddenly felt like he sold his soul to the devil.

"Fuck you, Crowley," Sam felt a hand rest heavily on his shoulder. Support masked a warning, albeit a possessive one. But the other boy bit his tongue as his eyebrows raised. "It's Sam Winchester."

The eyebrows jumped impossibly farther up the British teen's forehead, but he held his tongue. Whatever he thought of saying was covered by something far more diplomatic. "Well then, Sam Winchester. I am A.J. Crowley, at your service." The boy did a little bow laced with sarcasm. He set his drink on the end table and opened the door that led to the party.

"Welcome to Hell."

* * *

It wasn't long until Sam saw Dean.

Sam knew there were many things in this world that people never wanted to see. One, for instance, was your parents having sex.

And Sam knew that for his brother, one of those things would be the younger Winchester partaking in alcohol underage. Or probably partaking at all. But definitely _definitely_ Sam would get in a large amount of trouble if he was caught here at all. He would be murdered if he was caught drinking.

"What do you want?" Lucifer asked over the music.

"Dean can't know I'm here," Sam replied. "My dad is… Dean will kill me if he sees me here."

Lucifer followed Sam's line of vision until he saw the older Winchester. A table of bottles was out at the edge of the deck overlooking the crowd. The Novak boy could make out the shape of the ghost haunting the table, pouring himself a shot before taking it. Dean moved to the edge of the table and put his elbows on the balcony, looking over, staring at the dance floor.

"Who did he come with?"

"I thought Cas," Sam shrugged. Lucifer made a small noise that was somewhere in the middle of confused, appreciation, and that-makes-sense. "Seriously, though, Lucifer. He cannot know I'm here."

"Challenge accepted. Avoiding people is always fun. Now let me repeat my question: What do you want," Lucifer paused. "And I meant to drink, you know."

"Whatever is fine," Sam didn't know anything about alcohol anyway.

Lucifer made a show of talking to Dean, grinning and winking at Sam over Dean's shoulder. The Novak boy got two cups, saying something to Dean. Sam saw that his brother turned his face to see the other boy, but didn't really seem to be talking back. Lucifer expertly poured alcohol into both glasses, then something as a mixer. Lucifer said something and Dean gestured to the crowd. With a hand shake, the Novak was walking back to him with two red solo cups.

He passed one to Sam. "My brother ditched your brother almost half an hour ago. Also, he is already pretty drunk. He may not even recognize you."

Sam knew Dean drank, even if the older boy tried his hardest to hide it, but Sam hadn't ever seen him as drunk as their dad. Sam took a sip and tried really hard to hide the displeasure in his face.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"It's rum and coke," The older boy started leading his wingman away from his brother. "It gets better, I promise."

Sam took Lucifer's word for it and took another sip.

* * *

Dean wasn't sure how long he sat at the edge of the deck, looking out over the swimming pool toward the dance floor. From as far away as he was, he shouldn't have been able to make out the individual people, but he recognized his fair share of girls grinding upon Castiel.

The man was some kind of god. He completely lacked inhibitions and the girls attached themselves to his confidence. A song would start and he'd be dancing by himself, a person completely possessed by the base. His hips would be swaying, his arms danced above his head. A girl would come to him, and he'd wrap his arms around her hips, pulling her back tight to his chest. She would put her arms over her head, touching his hair, with her elbows bent and out. They would sway together, grind together, then one of them would be dragged away by another partner.

It was pornographic, and Dean didn't like being the voyeur. But he must have been a serious gluten for punishment; he stayed in that spot staring at his friend for what felt like hours.

Eventually, Castiel broke ranks. The girl he was dancing with pouted in his general direction, but the boy was already sliding through the crowd. He bee-lined right to Dean. He was sweaty, and Dean wanted to do nothing more to ignore him. The boy pressed too close to him as he got himself another drink – the same as before – and leaned against the table next to his "date."

"Are you sure you don't want to dance?" Castiel asked, through pants or breath.

Dean nodded into his drink. Castiel slumped for maybe three seconds before he started twitching again. He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, staring at it with his eyebrows furrowed, as if he required great concentration to decode the message.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "Gabriel called a family meeting in Crowley's basement," he put his hand on Dean's forearm and tugged him. "Let's go!"

Dean tried to rip his arm from the other boy's grasp. The younger boy turned and looked at him with an annoyance shining clear on his face.

"I'm not a part of your family."

"You need to lighten up, Dean Winchester," Castiel frowned. "You are not a fun drunk."

The younger boy let go of his forearm when he felt the boy's muscles tighten as his hand clenched into a fist. Castiel's eyes went wide in surprise at the display of aggression. "You ditched me. I have no friends here – I told you that – and you ditched me."

"You need to lighten up," Castiel repeated, digging into his pockets. He pulled out a baggie and carefully took two pills out. One was a small white circle, the other one was bigger. It looked like birth control and a Tylenol to him.

Castiel grabbed Dean's jaw. The boy took the hint – his body acting against the small, sober part of his mind questioning what the pills could be – and opened his mouth. Castiel placed the drugs in the other boy's mouth, before pushing the jaw up lightly, shutting his mouth. The hand slid from Dean's jaw from his cheek. The other hand joined on the other side.

Castiel pulled him in and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Before Dean could really even think of what to do, Castiel was walking toward the back door. Dean took a sip to wash the drugs down and followed him.

* * *

"Have you?" Sam leaned against the railing of the porch on the side of the house where he could always keep an eye on Dean and hide should the boy turn around. So far, his brother was depressingly obsessed with the dance floor and, more specifically, Castiel.

The two lines from the railing were permanently etched into Sam's skin, and it hurt. Shifting in pain was not an option. Rule number four: never show signs of weakness or insecurity. Chicks could smell that shit.

"Have I what?"

"Haaaaave you met Luce?"

From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Lucifer snort into his drink, causing him to spill a little bit of it down the front of him. This caused him to laugh harder. Sam started laughing too. The girl rolled her eyes.

"Alright, lady. You've played your party. Scurry off," The girl shot a look at Lucifer. Every girl tonight had shot a look at Lucifer when, time after time, he turned them away to teach Sam some important lesson. They were hanging out on the side porch – where nobody was and nothing was happening – but even with nobody around, Lucifer didn't need a wingman. The girls were throwing themselves at him. Until he turned them down. Then they marched off after calling him an ass. This girl was no different, but Lucifer didn't seem to mind.

"Sammy, take a note," Lucifer wrapped his arm around the younger boy's shoulder, and Sam got an invisible notebook from his back pocket, flipped it open and past a few pages, then held an invisible pen to it and looked up at his sensei. His sensei took a long drink of his alcohol. "Rule number… 210." Sam pretended to scribble it down. "Never quote any decent comedy show to pick up chicks for two reasons. One, that line stopped working in about 2006 when season 2 started. And two, chicks don't really get good comedy. Because chicks are…"

"Soulless automatons," Sam finished, for probably the fiftieth time that night.

Lucifer patted his back. "Good boy, Sammy. Now hurry up and finish that drink so we can start on something new."

Sam hadn't been keeping track of his drinks or the time, but the way his head was swimming already made him think that he should probably cool it. He tried to voice his concern, but Lucifer pointed at the place Dean had been standing. Castiel was dragging him inside.

"Look, our brothers made up for now. It's time for you to learn one of the most important tools of being a wingman. Taking shots," Lucifer all but dragged the younger boy the few feet to the make-shift bar. Sam checked his phone while the older boy poured shots. He hadn't been able to hear the sound or feel the vibration all night and if Dean texted him, he wanted to respond so the other boy wouldn't wonder what he had was doing.

So far, he had only received one text from Dean, about half an hour ago, which read "thsi pardy is lame." Sam watched him type it, but he didn't need to see him struggle to know he was drunk.

Sam had responded, "Should have stayed home and ordered a pizza with me." He read it through three times to make sure everything looked okay before he sent it.

He had one new text, but it wasn't from Dean.

**Gabe Novak:** Samwich! Grab Luci and bring him to Crowley's basement ASAP. This is life or death, dude.

Sam showed Lucifer the text. Lucifer checked his own phone and received pretty much the same message. He laughed aloud then showed it to Sam.

**Gabriel:** Lucibear! Get your jailbait date to Crowley's basement. He's got a full bar and a stripper pole down here, and let me say, that freak you're with likes to dance.

"That's not true," Sam blurted out.

Lucifer just laughed more before trying to explain how to take a shot to the younger boy. He explained about exhaling first, how to take a breath as you tip your head back, and pour the liquid to the back of your throat. Gulp. Slam the shot glass down with an exhale. Lucifer demonstrated. Sam hesitated.

"You don't want to miss whatever Gabriel has planned," Lucifer teased.

Sam brought the small glass to his lips, breathing in the smell of rubbing alcohol. _One, two…_ he tossed his head back and realized that he had no idea how to take a shot. Instead, he felt like a kid gulp, gulp, gulping cough syrup. Instead of one throat full, he swallowed three times. He slammed the glass down with a cough. A series of coughs, and his body convulsed in repulsion.

Lucifer laughed, patted his back, and led him inside. "It gets easier, kid."

Sam seriously doubted that.

* * *

Crowley wasn't in his own basement. In fact, nobody was except Balthazar and Bela. Apparently he had convinced her to let him wear a shirt – his typical V neck went farther down his chest – which showing off her name in calligraphy script on his collarbone. He dressed up for the occasion by putting a blazer on.

Dean sat at the bar next to Bela. She was sipping some complicated girly drink and eyed the pair carefully. Castiel eyed the pole but decided to sit on the couch near the stairs facing the bar.

"What're you having, Winchester?" Balthazar asked, his _speech impediment_ growing thicker with alcohol.

"Cas," Dean called. The younger boy looked up at him. "Come do a Jäger Bomb with me."

Castiel stood from the couch and walked over to join his friend at the bar. Bela was grinning between her straw as Balthazar played bartender and got two cups from under the bar. He got two shot glasses and filled them with Jägermeister. It took him a little while longer to find the Red Bull, but it was in the mini-fridge with the other mixers hidden under the bar.

Before he could pour it, Castiel grabbed the small can from his hands and read the back. After a second, he nervously slid it back to his younger brother and put his hand around his own throat. Dean was pretty sure he was checking his heart rate before ingesting the energy drink. It kind of made him wonder what Castiel gave him.

The Red Bull was poured, and Bathazar dropped the shot glasses with the Jägermeister into the drinks. Castiel watched with fascination as the brown liquid mixed with the unnatural green of the energy drink.

By the time he looked up, Dean had half the glass empty. In a few more gulps, the shot glass was against his mouth. Balthazar and Bela applauded. Dean stood and bowed before placing a hand on his friend's back.

"Just try it, Cas. It's pretty good."

Castiel studied the liquid for another second before mimicking Dean's chug. Even Dean was surprised. A few short gulps later, the shot glass slammed forward against the younger boy's teeth, and he pulled back in pain. A little bit of the drink spilled down the front of him before he sat the mostly empty drink down with a roar of laughter. One hand went to his mouth, were his teeth vaguely hurt from the glass. The other went to his shirt where the drink spilled on him. He leaned back to get a better look and slipped off the stool. Dean easily caught him, but the two ended in a laughing lump on the floor.

Bela gave them an easy look, before moving her eyes to her date with a small smile. He took a sip of champagne and raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Winchester! Get your hands off my baby brother!" Lucifer boomed. Sam waved at Balthazar, but slid behind the stairs to hide behind Crowley's bookshelf where Dean wouldn't see him. Not that he was in any real position to recognize a boy he'd known since he was four. Castiel was half on top of him, pushing the hair off his forehead.

Dean reached up to run his fingers through the other boy's hair. It stuck up for a minute, but the second Castiel shook his head, it flopped back down.

They grinned at each other.

Lucifer gripped Castiel under his bicep and hauled him to his feet like he weighed nothing. He needed both hands to raise Dean, who wasn't helping at all, but he was eventually on his feet, too.

"Damn, Balthy. Give me what they had," Lucifer said, sitting next to Bela at the bar. He winked at her, but surprisingly, she remained interested in the younger bartender.

Dean slid onto the stool next to Lucifer, chatting happily with him as Balthazar made Lucifer something completely different.

Castiel saw the moment of opportunity and decided to take it. He walked calmly to the other side of the room, aiming for the candy dish with the heroin. The older boy owed him another balloon and fuck it if he said he had to take it here. He wanted it. Castiel didn't even realize how badly he wanted the drug inside him until the thought of having it there became a reality. He didn't have his needles on him, but he could cook it in tinfoil and smoke it. Crowley would kill him for stealing, but taking the drugs from Crowley's basement would be worth whatever pain he would be in when he was caught.

He was climbing onto Crowley's bed when he realized he had seen someone under the stairs. Realizing he was caught, he turned around to see who it was. Sam. He grinned, trying to work up an excuse for being over here. He sat on the older boy's bed and reasoned that Sam probably didn't know Crowley kept heroin in the candy dish. He didn't really owe him an explanation at all.

"Hey, Sam."

The younger boy stepped out from behind the stairs and walked to Castiel. Sam grabbed his wrist and pulled him off the bed. "Please don't tell Dean I'm here, Cas. He'll kill me."

Castiel decided he liked it when Sam called him the nickname too. It was like they were friends. The older boy nodded and grinned, "I will keep your secret and take it to the grave, Sam Winchester."

The shorter boy blinked at his brother's date. "Wow, Cas… you're like, really drunk."

Castiel felt the Jäger Bomb hit as he put his forearms on Sam's shoulders, grinning stupidly the younger boy. "I have heard you sing at church and you're rather good for having no training. Or at least, I assume you've had no training because the mistakes you make are small and easily fixed." Castiel placed his hand on the side of Sam's face, the way he had seen Dean do it just the night before and declared, "I find you very pleasing to be around."

Sam laughed and wiggled his way out from under the taller boy. Surprisingly, the personal space invasion did not bother Sam. "Thanks, Cas. You're alright, too. Remember, don't tell Dean you saw me."

Castiel said something, but Sam was pretty drunk himself and didn't understand what he said. He figured it was in a different language. The older boy started walking back to the bar.

Suddenly, a song started booming through the basement. Balthazar ushered the posse to the couch. Dean sat in the corner with Castiel practically on top of him. Lucifer sat on the back of the couch next to his brother. Bela and Balthazar sat on the other side. Sam came out of hiding to stand behind Balthazar next to Lucifer. The older boy gave him a small smile, acknowledging his presents.

During the opening part of the music, Sam heard the stairs creaking behind him. When he turned and looked, he saw mostly leg. By the time the girls hit the landing, the others noticed. Once, Sam heard (though he was a little fuzzy on the details at the moment as to _who_ said it to him) that the Senior Sign-In party had morphed from writing names on t-shirts to senior boys getting underclassmen girls to wear skimpy outfits that showed off their tags in provocative places.

Sam was well aware that these girls were seniors.

Lilith led the pack in a short plaid skirt with high socks, high heels, and a white blouse. Her hair was in pig tails. Sam was well aware that she was four years his senior, but she looked the same age as him, if not younger. She sat at the bar and crossed her legs.

Then Meg walked in. Meg, for always looking like a biker chick who could beat any guy up, dressed more as a southern belle. She had on a red sweater that was ripped off under her chest. She had on short jean shorts and cowboy boots. Now she looked like a farm girl with an incredible body who could kick anyone's ass. She sat down next to Lilith, facing her, crossing her legs to form a mirror image.

Then Ruby.

Sam's hands gripped the back of the couch so tightly he thought he would rip eight holes into the fabric.

Ruby straightened her hair, which caused it to fall to her mid back. She had on a… Sam could hardly describe it. It was like a black spaghetti strap tank-top, but it hung lower and showed more cleavage. The sides were taken down to almost her stomach, showing most of her sides and back. That shirt was tucked into a leather skirt, impossibly shorter than Lilith's, and she had high heeled shoes that went just above her ankles. She had beads around her neck that went past her chest, and even over the music Sam could hear them when she walked.

Sam's heart was beating in his throat, and he didn't even notice that Lucifer was looking at him.

" _Walk up to the bar, buying drinks like a star.  
My girls, they want to try it. So we had to buy it."_  


Gabriel popped up from behind the bar wearing this white button up shirt with a red vest. His hair was slicked back more than normal and he had this strange mustache. Apparently playing at being the bartender. Then he crawled up on the bar. The kisses and the girls names were clearly showing from his attire. He ripped off the mustache.

" _Uh huh, whip it up. Lick it up. Suck it down."_  


But it wasn't the girls singing the song. It was a girl's voice, yeah. But Gabriel was mouthing the words. The girls turned on him, reaching for him, _touching_ him. He dropped down in the middle of them. One by one the girls took turns dancing with Gabriel, completely objectifying him. Using him.

" _Uh huh, whip it up. Ooh, I think she likes that."_  


Sam looked at the other boys he was with. Was he the only one who was getting uncomfortably warm in here? Dean had his eyebrows drunkenly raised in lust, but he had shifted his arm since the last time Sam had looked so Castiel fit neatly into side. He was rubbing the beat out with one finger on Castiel's arm. Lucifer had an incredible poker face, though Sam wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't already slept with all three girls. Either way, he didn't seem to be enjoying himself. If anything, he looked annoyed.

But Balthazar was sitting far too rigidly, his hands squeezing his knees, to be anything but thoroughly enjoying this. Bela didn't seem to mind. In fact, she shifted, draping herself over him, and started whispering in Balthazar's ear.

Even Sam heard him groan.

" _Doing shots at the bar, body shots at the bar."_

Sam wasn't sure which one got out the alcoholic whipped cream – of _course_ that would be Gabriel's choice of alcohol – but soon enough Gabriel was the God of the Whipped Cream and was squirting it on the girls who licked it off each other. And they licked it off him. And he licked it off them. And they licked it off each other.

" _My girls, they want to try it, so we had to buy it."_  


Then, in a line, they started doing some dance. It was choreographed, it was too in sync not to be, but it wasn't all the same. Lilith and Meg were on their hands and knees on the bar, Ruby was dancing in between them, and Gabriel meandered toward them. When the song was coming to a close, the girls came up to him.

  
_"At the what? At the bar. At the what? At the bar._   
_My girls, they want to try it_   
_So we're drinking like we're rock stars!"_   


The song just ended. All three girls were squatted: Lilith had Gabriel's left leg between hers, Ruby had his right leg, and Meg was in front, facing him. Everything was silent and still for a second.

Surprisingly, it was Dean and Castiel who started clapping first. In seconds they were on their feet. Castiel hugged Gabriel, who looked disturbed and confused until Balthazar mouthed _Jäger Bombs_. Sam ducked behind the couch.

The girls congratulated themselves, happy and clapping. When Gabriel finally shook Castiel off, he climbed on the couch to collect the camera the girls had placed on the stairs. He quickly started watching his performance. Lucifer nudged him as a way of congratulations.

Bela and Balthazar joined the girls. Sam snuck a peek.

Dean was shifting from foot to foot, bending his knees and swinging his arms like he couldn't sit still. Or like he could hear some heavenly music nobody else was privy to. Castiel was grinning at him, insanely wide and uncharacteristically happy. Maybe not happy… but drunk.

"Let's go back upstairs," Dean said, gripping Castiel's forearm like an anchor. "Let's dance."

The second the older boys were out of the basement, Sam came out of hiding. Everyone was pretty much crowded around talking now. Except Lucifer, who sat where he was, staring at his empty cup.

It wasn't until a flash of pain crossed the older boy's face that Sam actually took notice to his hands. His left hand held the cup. His right hand was in the left jacket sleeve. He appeared to be itching his arm.

Sam sat down next to him on the back of the couch, but Lucifer didn't seem to notice him.

"You want another drink?" Sam asked.

Lucifer's eyes shot to him like he was suddenly back in the world. He pulled his hand from his sleeve and looked at it. There was blood on his fingertips and under his nails. He studied his hand for a second, before wiping the blood off on his jeans. He must have picked a scab.

"Always," Lucifer got up, stretched, then led them to the bar.

* * *

**Part II: "It's the way I'm feeling, I just can't deny."**

Dean had always had a way with girls. They flocked to him. And even though he couldn't dance, this was no exception. He wasn't sure if it felt like five minutes or three hours when Castiel's fingers wrapped around his hand and dragged him from the floor to get a drink. He had lost all concept of time. Instead, he felt he was keeping track by the beads of sweat that fell from the back of his neck to his shirt collar.

It was very late. Or very early.

They stopped on the deck by the bar and Dean leaned against the railing. Castiel faced him, his fingers moving from Dean's hand to his wrist, pausing over his pulse. He left it there for a moment, checking his pulse, then smiled.

"Not too bad. How are you feeling?"

"What time is it?"

Castiel checked his phone. "Past midnight."

They had been dancing for over an hour. Dean just smiled. He didn't feel even a little bit tired. Castiel abandoned him on the stoop and walked inside the house. Dean's feet were already tapping by the time he returned with two bottles of water.

He took a small sip even though he wanted to chug it. It was the third rule of alcohol: sip water, don't chug it or you'll throw up. He did sip pretty quickly, though.

After a few seconds, Castiel was looking out at the dance floor and swaying. His hair was completely matted to his forehead, but his eyes were bright and alert. Perhaps hyper alert. Dean ran his hand through his own hair, wishing he had a mirror. He kind of wondered what he looked like.

"What did you give me?" Dean said it louder than he needed, but nobody was around to hear. They were dancing.

Castiel's blue eyes shifted from the dance floor to Dean. He was looking at him like he could see deep inside him, like that his soul was down in there and all he had to do was look to know everything. It felt violating, a little, but mostly, Dean just felt really warm.

"Do you really want to know?" The boy asked evenly.

Dean reached out to touch his friend. They boy stood still, letting the probing fingers brush through his hair, across his jaw, trail down the front of his chest, and trace the outline of the sharpie letters on his arm. Dean's fingers were alight with fire. Each touch sent sensations flying up his nerves, releasing something in his brain. It didn't bypass his heart. It beat heavily – rapidly – in his rib cage.

He could only imagine sex on this stuff.

He pulled his hand away as if shocked and quickly took another gulp of water, trying to hide the thought deep in middle of his brain where it would never be accessed again.

Castiel smiled at him.

The thought wouldn't go away.

"Did you take the same thing?" Dean rephrased, wondering if this was a side effect the other boy was feeling too.

Castiel thought about it for a second, like he didn't want to answer. Dean was going to let it drop – let everything drop – and turn and face the dancing mass before them. He would finish his water, and dance until he came down… if he ever came down. But Castiel put his hand out, like he wanted to touch Dean, but it just hovered there for a second. He dropped his arm, and his eyes met Dean's once more.

"I took more."

Dean couldn't explain his body's reaction to the statement. He wasn't sure what he was on, he wasn't sure how they mixed with the alcohol, and he wasn't sure why the smaller boy saying that made him feel like a sun had exploded in his chest. Somewhere, in the small part of his mind that was the normal, sober Dean, he screamed that the proper response to finding out your friend took more drugs than you (and you can hardly explain how _your_ feeling) was to talk about substance abuse and try and help him.

Dean reached out, putting his hand behind the back of Castiel's neck. Sober Dean coached him through the words he should say, crap he knew about addiction from his dad's stints in AA. Somehow, the relay between Sober Dean and High Dean's mouth didn't work fast enough. Instead, his hand pulled the younger boy to him.

If a sun had exploded in Dean before, the big bang happened all over again when their lips met. It was like ten thousand bundles of axons shot to life and relayed a message that went straight to Dean's… okay, he wasn't sure which organ the feelings shot to first. Perhaps it shot to all of them, because he could _feel_ the kiss with every ounce of his being.

Castiel's hands slipped under his shirt, tentatively touching the bare skin of Dean's stomach. Somewhere deep inside him, Dean felt a growl growing, and had to break the kiss in fear of consuming the other boy somehow.

The younger boy didn't say anything. He didn't look different, except for new, pink tint to his lips. Dean felt the hands leave his stomach. Dean wanted to know. He wanted to know everything, and he wanted to know it so much that it hurt. But Castiel offered no answers. Instead, he placed his hand in the older boy's and entwined their fingers.

Castiel led them back to the dance floor.

* * *

More people had joined them in the basement in the past hour or so, but they were just bodies in a setting. Gabriel still held complete control over Crowley's basement, even with the owner of the basement down there with them. Crowley seemed to be having the least amount of fun out of anyone at the party, though he didn't seem to mind sitting on the couch drinking Scotch mostly by himself all too much. He was just watching the show in front of him.

At some point, Gabriel had turned music on and an unplanned dance party had erupted. Nameless couples danced around them, but Gabriel and the three girls danced together as if nobody else were watching. Balthazar and Bela had an intimate little grind going on next to them, but the focus of everyone who wasn't dancing was on Lilith and Ruby, who danced mostly with each other.

Lucifer was sitting near Crowley, though the two hadn't spoken two words to each other since the party first started. Sam was sitting on the other side of Lucifer, but his eyes hadn't left Ruby in what seemed like days. The older boy had convinced him to do more shots, drink more alcohol, and Sam wasn't sure he could even stand, let alone dance. Everything was swimming; Sam was drowning in flashes of color and light.

The only thing in focus was Ruby.

Sam definitely hadn't noticed that Lucifer was staring at him. But Crowley sure did.

The younger boy was too intoxicated to jump when he felt the hand placed heavily on his thigh. He looked down, and his mind seemed to spark with the thought that it was too high on his leg to be an innocent touch from another dude. It was high enough to where he might punch someone else. But instead, Sam felt his already red cheeks flush further. He turned and noticed his friend leaning toward him. He had a grin on his face, but his eyes were humorless.

"Go dance with Ruby, Sam."

It was a command. Even so, a freshman did not simply walk up to a girl and start dancing with her. Especially not a girl like Ruby. She was equal parts psycho and beautiful, and there's no way she wouldn't deny Sam.

"They may be dancing with Gabriel," Lucifer whispered. "But they are still my bitches. Show her your arm. It's a free pass to whichever girl you want."

Neither boy noticed Crowley raised his eyebrows into his drink.

Sam stood on shaky feet, and Lucifer needed to push him to get him walking. The younger boy went to Gabriel, who laughed and nodded. The girls looked at him, and Lucifer watched as he extended his arm to shake Ruby's hand. Palm up. She looked at his arm and took no mercy on him.

No shame, just grinding. Poor boy.

Lucifer's hand went up his sleeve again.

"What a glutton for punishment… you poor little fallen angel," Lucifer turned to look at the host of the party. His eyes hadn't left the intimate dance party going on before him, but there was no mistaking who he was speaking to.

"Getting him laid by one of your little whores isn't going to make him fuck you any faster."

Crowley didn't look, but he could feel the boy tense beside him. It was like Lucifer was sucking the body heat from everyone in the room. In a snap, the room seemed colder with his rage.

Finally, Crowley turned to him. "I know you're named after the Prince of Darkness, but that _kid_ is the same age as your youngest brother, Lucifer. There's a special place in hell for those who taint children." Crowley paused. "And a special place in jail. You know what they do to child molesters in prison?"

Lucifer didn't make a sound as he stood, but Crowley knew he was spot on with his analysis by the way the other boy was breathing fire. He sat his drink down and walked to the crowd dancing. He grabbed Lilith by the arm and pulled her to him. Roughly. She responded positively to the manhandling, and when he squeezed her hips hard enough to bruise, she let out a small sigh and dropped her forehead to his chest.

Lucifer didn't see Sam stop dancing and approach him, a worried frown etched on his drunken face. Ruby pulled Sam away before he could reach Lucifer.

* * *

Although Dean had a girl's back pressed flush against his chest, and although he had his hands on the front part of her hips, rocking her with him, his eyes went over her shoulder to watch his friend dance with his girl.

Castiel and the girl were facing each other. She was a more talented dancer than Dean's partner. She used his shoulders as leverage, twisting and moving near him. Not that Castiel was a bad dancer – far from it. He was doing more than swaying. His hands guided her hips, and the two moved with each other like waves crashing on a beach. The dance was almost less in their hips than it was their chests, but it looked far more intimate, even if they were actually touching less than Dean and his partner.

The song switched, and the crowd cheered. Dean had only known a handful of songs so far, and this new one was just as unfamiliar as the rest. It apparently was a popular song with the freak dancing crowd, though. In the brief musical intro before the singing start, Castiel managed to get the girl off his leg and jump closer to Dean.

" _Let's go to the beach, each. Let's go get away.  
They say what they gonna say…"_  


The older boy wasn't exactly sure how Castiel untangled him from his own partner, but he had both his hands in Castiel's, as the boy walked backwards and tugged Dean deeper into the mesh of bodies.

" _I'm on the floor, floor. I love to dance.  
Give me some more, more, til I can't stand…"_  


Castiel had let go of Dean, and spun himself in a circle, dancing entirely by himself.

Dean had been watching the other boy all night. He had danced with anyone who would have him as a partner – girls and boys – and he had danced by himself. In all that time, Dean had noticed how sexual the rocking of his hips was. But he hadn't notice before that when the boy spun, dancing as if nobody were watching, time slowed and gravity paused for one moment of disbelief before his hair settled back on his head. He hadn't noticed how the shirt collar hung a little too loosely around his neck, leaving a gap at the crook of his neck, begging to be kissed.

Dean blinked, and Castiel was before him, gripping both of the older boy's hands in his, raising them slowly above their heads. The younger boy looked like he was screaming the words, but Dean couldn't hear him over the music and his own pulse.

" _Starships were meant to fly; hands up and touch the sky.  
Can't stop, cause we're so high. Let's do this one more time."_  


Keeping their hands up, Castiel bent his knees, lowering his body. In time with the music, he shifted his weight from one side to the other, dancing near Dean, but not on top of him. Dean swallowed, watching the boy in front of him.

" _Starships were meant to fly; hands up and touch the sky.  
Let's do this one last time. Can't stop. We're higher than a motherfucker."_  


Castiel half-spun so his back was to Dean's chest. His hands came down to his friend's head. When Castiel rocked his hips backward, Dean's hands traveled down the rest of his body before resting on his hips, trying to keep the movement going if it was the last thing he would ever do.

Castiel's elbows were out. As if grinding on the senior wasn't enough, Dean's name was displayed proudly on his arm. There couldn't be a more definitive display of ownership.

Until Dean took advantage of the gap in the shirt and bit down on Castiel's neck.

Even though the boys were already grinding on each other, Dean felt the younger boy arch his back at the bite. His fingers gripped at the back of Dean's head, trying to get a hold on the short hair. When he couldn't, he turned himself around to face his friend.

For a split second – or maybe for a couple of hours – they looked at each other. Maybe it was the blood mixed with amphetamines and ecstasy rushing from their head to a different part of their body. Maybe the heavens opened up and the angels sang praise. Maybe the music stopped, and everyone stared at them – two boys holding each other in the middle of the dance floor in Kansas. Neither boy could tell you what happened in that moment.

But the moment after, when they kissed, they both could tell you that they saw stars.

* * *

After a while, Lucifer cooled down. Crowley could see his body relax into Lilith. Eventually the younger boys got bored. Instead of dancing with their girls, they were dancing with each other in a way that the British teen assumed was typical of nerdy, virginal sixteen-year-old girls who took shots of Mixed Drink* instead of alcohol because they were "cool."

[*Mixed Drink – read – Mountain Dew and Amp mixed. Crowley shook his head and thought _how pathetic._ ]

It involved standing in a circle, bouncing their knees (instead of swaying their hips), leaning to the left and right, and pointing at each other, raising the roof, and the occasional pretend-to-sing-into-a-microphone.

It was sad on a whole new level. Mostly, it was sad because they didn't realize how sad they were.

Crowley smirked into his drink.

It took a few minutes for Lucifer to notice the younger boys, but when he did, he could only stare. Crowley wasn't sure if it was in disgust or embarrassment. It should be both, with a little bit of realization mixed in.

So when Lucifer abandoned Lilith – Lilith who was wearing a school girl outfit, mind you – and reverted back to loserdom with his younger brothers and Sam Winchester, Crowley was shocked. It went on like that for a while. Crowley lost track of time so he measured in terms of drinks. It was around the time that Crowley was pouring his third Scotch of the dance montage that he realized _everyone_ in the basement, except for him, had reverted to middle school. And not the "I'm-a-rebellious-eighth-grader-and-my-dad-just-le ft-my-mom-so-I-want-to-get-even-and-seem-older-so- I'm-throwing-myself-at-high-school-boys" middle school. No. They were the awkward stage of middle school where they scream "let's-have-fun-and-not-care-what-other-people-thi nk-of-us."

They were having fun. And nobody save Crowley was mocking them for what complete idiots they were being. And Crowley wasn't mocking aloud.

The British teen took a sip of his Scotch. He was eighteen years old and drinking _Scotch_. He was rich. He was cultured. He sold drugs on the side for a bit of excitement on his life. And he had never, ever, felt as happy as those freaks in his basement.

It must be great to be free.

Somewhere deep down, Crowley thought it had to do with social structure. The Novaks were rich. Word on the street that with both their parents gone, they were slowly losing their finances. It didn't stop the younger ones from being confident in their social class. They made what was cool. It was impossible to be foolish if you were rich. The Winchesters were poor. They had nothing to prove to anyone – except that they were not beggers – so what did it matter if they made fools of themselves?

Crowley's family came from money. He'd been rich nearly his whole life. Why wasn't he confident in who he was? An image of blue eyes looking up from under black hair flashed to him. He downed the glass of Scotch to get rid of the memory.

Crowley thought about joining them. Maybe to prove to himself that he wasn't insecure with himself. As he started to stand from behind the bar, he noticed Lucifer lean over and touch Sam, yelling something in his ear. The younger boy was still very intoxicated; Crowley was surprised he had been dancing on two feet as long as he had been with the way he walked to the bar.

He didn't deny the drink when Lucifer pushed it at him, but he eyed it like a secret lover, desperately in love with the way it made him feel, but well aware that the feeling was too powerful and making him nauseous. He watched Lucifer take a shot through thickly lidded eyes, his hands gripping the bar like an anchor. When the older boy drank, the younger took a few sips too.

Lucifer gestured to the stairs and took Sam's drink, apparently seeing the shape the brunet was in. Though, to be fair, if someone was too drunk to carry their own drink, they were far too drunk to consume more. The older boy started leading his wingman up the stairs, and somewhere in Crowley's chest, he felt some semblance of humanity. The kid was drunk – beyond drunk, he was completely trashed – and he was just a kid. He was too young and too out of it to be taken in the woods and raped because he couldn't defend himself. As Lucifer went to take his first step onto the landing, Crowley rose, ready to defend the freshmen he didn't even know, to confront a boy who was a far more unpredictable – far more skilled – fighter. And for what? For humanities sake?

Sam looked at the first step like it was some great challenge he had to face. Instead of reaching out and gripping the walls, his fingers closed around the cuff of Lucifer's jacket sleeve. They older boy turned around, looking down at the younger boy. For a second, they stared at each other – Sam silently begging for help and Lucifer thinking of the best way.

The smile the older boy gave Sam was enough to get Crowley to have second thoughts. Lucifer hooked an arm through Sam's, helping to half-pull, half-guide him up the first step. His mouth moved, and Crowley knew they were words of praise and encouragement. Pride. Crowley had seen Lucifer interact with hundreds of people and the affection and gentleness – the adoration and _love_ – that was pouring through him as he helped the younger boy up the stairs was something Crowley had never seen on the other boy. Not even when Gabriel was born. Not really. It had been love, sure, but it hadn't been the same.

For some reason, Sam was special to Lucifer. Lucifer wouldn't take advantage.

Crowley watched them leave. Once they were gone, he drew his eyes to the dance party once again. For a moment, he let himself watch Balthazar and Gabriel, and thought of their older brother. The way he would dance, shifting his hips to rock back and forth to the beat. The way he would smile a vacant, distant smile when Crowley would open his eyes and untangle his hand from the other boy's hair. The way he would shake before he got the drugs inside of him, far more dependent on them than he would ever admit.

And this time when he thought of Castiel, he didn't push the thoughts away.

* * *

**Part III: "But I've got to let it go."**

Alistair only went to Crowley's party to see how easy it would be to get a virtuous girl to fall into temptation. He was having a hard time locating a virtuous girl among the filth. After a third sweep, he walked back to the pool. He sat at the edge, next to Azazel's clothes. His friend currently had a bikini clad girl on his shoulders. She was fighting another bikini clad girl on some other boy's shoulders. It was some archaic game that Alistair didn't understand.

He was surprised he heard the phone over the music. Carefully, he fished it from his friend's pocket. It was a blocked number.

"Someone is calling you, Azazel," Alistair yelled.

Azazel ducked in the water and the girl squealed. He removed himself from between her legs and swam to the edge. He pushed his hair from his face as he pulled himself from the water.

"Who is it?"

"It's blocked."

"Answer it, Al. I'm all wet."

So Alistair answered it. "Azazel's phone. Alistair speaking."

"This is Michael Novak. Could I please speak to my brother? He is not answering his phone."

The party raged around them. There was no way the other boy couldn't hear it. Alistair froze for a second, well aware that Lucifer was supposed to be spending the night at Azazel's. He looked around, hoping to spot the boy nearby. Perhaps they could blame the sound on something else.

"Who is it?" Azazel asked, grabbing his towel to dry off his hands and hair.

"Michael. He wishes to speak with Lucifer," Alistair tried to remain calm. Azazel ran, taking the stairs two at a time, disappearing into the house to search for the boy. "Your brother is in the bathroom at the moment. Could I have him call you back in a few minutes?"

"You're at Crowley's party with him, aren't you?" Michael's voice was hard, but even. He wasn't yelling, he didn't even sound really angry. But there was something else there. Alistair was no saint, but the edge in the other boy's voice caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on edge.

"No, Michael. We're at Azazel's."

"I can hear the music from my porch," Michael stated. "You have the same music playing at Azazel's?"

Alistair couldn't think of a logical response.

"Thank you, Alistair. Good bye."

A _beep-beep-beep_ let the sadistic teen know that the call had been dropped. He placed the phone back in his friend's pocket. He thought about running – searching for Lucifer amongst the crowd – but he knew the damage was done. Michael would come for him. If he didn't find him here, Lucifer would have to go home sometime.

One time, Alistair found a stray cat in his back yard. His parents were out of town. He took it into his basement, where he slowly choked it to death, skinned it, and cut the body into smaller sections. He burned the sections. It was the first time he felt anything in his life. He was eight.

Despite this, Michael Novak scared him.

* * *

It wasn't that having a towel clad senior run into the basement was a common or uncommon occurrence for the people at the party. They probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't ripped the iPod from the jack, causing a short burst of static followed by a low pitch hum. Mostly, silence followed.

Although it was Crowley's party, it was Gabriel who stood forward to demand an explanation.

Azazel was bobbing his head, searching the faces in the crowd of people. When Gabriel didn't say anything, Azazel demanded, "Where is Lucifer?"

Crowley answered from the bar. "Left… wot, like, five minutes ago?"

Balthazar was at Gabriel's side in an instant. "What is it?"

"Michael called," The mood in the room shifted. Balthazar and Gabriel tensed, but even they didn't really see the intense reaction from the crowd. If Michael had called and Azazel wanted to find Lucifer, two things were about to happen: 1. Lucifer did something wrong and there was going to be a giant, cataclysmic fight between the twins or 2. The rapture was upon them and the apocalypse would be happening soon (see option one for details on said apocalypse).

"Go find Lucifer," Gabriel shouted, far too loud than necessary in the silent room. He grabbed his iPod from Azazel's hand. His three girls ran at the order, climbing the stairs to find the boy. Azazel joined them. Balthazar said goodbye to Bela – a quick peck on the cheek – and he jumped on the couch. Gabriel was too short, so Balthazar gave him a boost to the window.

They had to make it home without running into Michael, and preferably, before Michael could return with Lucifer. After a second of debating, they decided to cross the street in front of Crowley's, run through the yard to the parallel street. That way, a street away, Michael wouldn't see them if he walked the front way to Crowley's house, but they could keep an eye out for their brother.

Once on the street, they slowed to a brisk walk, and Gabriel dug out his phone.

"Who are you calling?" Balthazar whispered.

Gabriel held the phone to his ear and shivered in the cool night's air. "Castiel. He went with Dean, remember? If Michael sees him there…"

"Shit, I forgot Castiel," Balthazar cursed. "He could have left, though. He hadn't been in the basement for hours. He's probably home."

"Let's hope. No answer," Gabriel growled as he shoved the phone back in his pocket. Balthazar stopped walking and peeked out from the house across the street from the Novaks' home. Nobody was out, but the lights were on in the living room. They were the only lights on that they could see. Everyone – meaning Raphael, Uriel, and Zachariah – would be waiting in the living room.

"We have to sneak in our window," Balthazar hissed.

Gabriel nodded. "Do we run or walk?"

"Let's go two more houses down, cross the street there, and approach our room from the woods. Hopefully we can both get in before Michael drags Lucifer back."

Balthazar saw Gabriel shudder, but wasn't sure if it was the cold or Michael.

They cut through the back yard of the two houses, crossed the street, and cut around back. They watched for thirty seconds to make sure all was still before they ran to their window. Luckily, Gabriel made them leave their window open for just such an emergency.

Balthazar put his right leg forward and put his hands at the joint where his hip turned into his leg. Gabriel put his hand on his brother's shoulder and his foot in his hands. Gabriel reached the window sill and pushed the screen door in. With a joint effort of Gabriel pulling himself with his arms and Balthazar pushing him up, the youngest Novak tumbled head first into their room and onto his bed. He reappeared shortly and held his hands down to his brother.

Balthazar could reach the window pane if he jumped. He used his feet against the siding of the house to prop himself up. Gabriel grabbed him under his arms and pulled. The younger boy could feel his brother's muscles shaking with effort and exhaustion, and for a minute, he thought they wouldn't be able to get him back in. After a few moments, Gabriel managed to pull him in and on top of him. The two fell off the bed and onto the floor with a quiet thud.

Gabriel whimpered in pain, but Balthazar pulled him to his feet. They stripped quietly and quickly and were in bed in record time.

Fourteen seconds after they pulled the covers above their shoulders, a small sliver of light shined into their room. It was blocked by a silhouette.

"What was that?" Zachariah whispered.

He wasn't answered at first, and Gabriel felt his heart beating in his throat. He doubted his brothers were convinced he was asleep – he was trying to force some slow rhythm of breathing but he was almost hyperventilating because of it – and he doubted Balthazar was doing much better.

"Must be nothing," Uriel whispered. "Praise God that all our brothers aren't as sinful as Lucifer."

"The three youngest ones are angels," Raphael agreed.

"Praise God," Zachariah repeated.

"Hopefully Michael will let the three of them sleep until morning. There is no need for this to take place tonight," The door shut, and there was a collective sigh of relief from the youngest brothers' room.

Though, uncharacteristically, they stayed silent through the night, unable to sleep, but unable to bring themselves to talk about their brother's potential punishment.

* * *

  
_"The sun goes down, the stars come out._   
_And all that counts is here and now._   
_My universe will never be the same._   
_I'm glad you came. I'm glad you came."_   


The trek up the hill had been rough for Sam, but once Lucifer sat, Sam laid down next to him, breathing heavily with his eyes closed. That only made the world spin more, so he opened them once again.

Lucifer was looking at him.

" _You cast a spell on me, spell on me.  
You hit me like the sky fell on me, fell on me."_  


They sat in silence for a couple of moments before Lucifer sat Sam's drink down. It remained untouched. When Sam's breathing returned to normal, he sat up. Lucifer peered at him for a moment, before noticing the other boy shivering in his t-shirt. The older boy peeled off his white track jacket and extended it to his wingman. Sam took it, grateful, and put it on.

" _And I decided you look well on me, well on me.  
So let's go somewhere no one else can see, you and me."_  


They sat in silence for a couple more moments before Lucifer saw the Sharpied star, faded from sweat, poking out from the cuff.

"Tell me more about the Morning Star," Lucifer said quietly. Sam looked confused for a moment, before the older boy ran his fingers over the tag on his wrist.

The trailing fingers soothed Sam. He leaned back on his arms and looked up at the sky. "Lucifer, I think, is just the way you say the phrase _morning star_ in Latin. Early on, people referred to Venus as the morning star. Venus is bright in the morning, right before sun up." He paused for a moment, looking at the other boy with a dead serious look on his face, like he was trying to convince him of something of great importance. "It means light-bearer… like, the one who brings the light. And I think that you should focus on that."

Sam didn't want to lie down and get the white track jacket dirty, but staying awake was becoming a chore. Lucifer's fingers were still tracing the mark on his wrist and the younger boy felt his heavy eyelids close. He imagined the stars swirling and passing before them, in constant flux that somehow formed a beautiful cosmic pattern.

" _The sun goes down, the stars come out.  
And all that counts is here and now."_  


"Lucifer is a name for the devil in Christianity, as you know. But did you know that in the book of Revelation Jesus refers to himself as the bright morning star?"

" _My universe will never be the same.  
I'm glad you came. I'm glad you came."_  


Lucifer's fingers stopped moving. Sam could feel the older teen both tense and turned to look at him. His face was frozen in a place halfway between shock and contemplation. His hand tightened around Sam's wrist.

The younger boy wasn't sure when Lucifer had gotten so close to him, but his chest was practically pushed up against Sam's arm.

"Jesus said that?" Lucifer sounded breathless and hopeful.

Sam nodded.

He wasn't even sure he felt it at first, but when his wrist got cold and he felt pressure on his forearm, then his bicep, he knew the older boy was running his hand up his arm. Over the coat, but still, Sam swallowed hard, trying to focus on the blue eyes.

Lucifer seemed fine to stare right back.

" _Turn the lights out now, now I'll take you by the hand.  
Hand you another drink. Drink it if you can."_  


"Do you think that…" Lucifer started, but changed his mind. His fingers tightened on Sam's bicep, like he was the one desperate for the anchor. "Why do you think they named me…"

Sam swayed under the intenseness of his friend's gaze. The question was more than loaded. It spoke to magnitudes that Sam wasn't even sure he got. It must be hard, being eighteen and named for the devil.

"You could change it, if you want," Sam offered. "But you were never meant to be like us. You were never supposed to be a Mark or a Nick…" Sam's hand found Lucifer's knee and the older boy broke eye contact to look. When his eyes returned to Sam, his cheeks were a small shade pinker.

"They named you something difficult because you need to rise above the adversity and be a better man because of it."

Sam didn't know why he said it, but he felt it was true the moment it spewed from him. Devine, like he wasn't in control of himself. He felt the hand move to his shoulder, and he saw something cross through Lucifer's eyes, but he couldn't quite place it. His hand was on Sam's shoulder, but the younger boy couldn't tell if he felt Lucifer pulling them together or pushing him away. His hands were shaking. Even Lucifer probably didn't know.

It was then that Sam realized for the first time how awful it must be to be a Novak – one of eight shadows passing through the world full of faith but without affection. Gabriel had mentioned, once, how the last time he had received a hug from his parents he had been six and needed stitches on his forehead from falling off the playground. Praise was never on the children; rather, if Zachariah received a promotion or Balthazar won an engineering award, praise was given to the God who made it possible.

Shakespeare didn't apply to the Novaks. "Men at some time are masters of their fates." Their fates were always in the one star. The brightest star.

God.

"Do you really think that?" Lucifer whispered. "That someday I can be something greater than... me?"

Sam's response was to squeeze the thigh of the desperately sad boy before him. There weren't words that were enough. The Novaks were tortured, ruined, destined for failure – to fall short of their namesakes – from the minute they were born. They weren't angels. They were men – not even men – they were teenagers. Failing was part of growing up.

"The hard part in life is the choice, but you always have a choice. You can be whoever you want to be. You already are a good man," Sam smiled, and looked at the older boy's chest, desperate to break eye contact. "I mean, you brought me here and looked out for me all night. You could have brought some girl to sleep with, you know? I appreciate your time."

"Sam," Lucifer breathed his name. When Sam looked up, he felt the older boy's hand on his neck. He still seemed like he was struggling at first, but then his fingers curled at the back of his neck, and Sam was sure they were actually getting closer. It wasn't the alcohol playing tricks on him.

" _I'm glad you came."_  


Even more surprising, when he realized Lucifer's intention, he didn't fight or pull away. His eyelids lowered, completely independent of his brain, and he leaned in.

" _I'm glad you…"_  


But contact never came.

Instead, the hand was ripped from the back of his neck with a surprised yelp. Sam had to put his hands on the ground to keep him from tumbling forward with the force. His eyes shot open, his head shot up, and Lucifer's hand was still reaching down for him as his body rose and was pulled away.

The alcohol slowed Lucifer down; by the time his mind realized it should respond violently to the interruption, his arm was already pinned painfully behind his back. His right wrist was pressed up to his shoulder blades, with one hand. Another hand gripped his left bicep, pulling it back as it reached the wrist higher, not fully dislocating his shoulder, but not making it comfortable either.

Lucifer hissed in pain, eyes shutting, a tear rolling down his cheek. Only one person used this move on him.

"Michael, please."

"You were told not to come here," Michael's voice was set and cold. "You should be living in God's image. You should not be consuming vast quantities of alcohol and dancing with girls. You should not be up here, trying to put moves on…"

Sam hung his head, still on his hands and knees. He felt sick.

"Is that Sam Winchester?"

It was silent. Dead silent. The songs were switching on the dance floor. There was an exodus of people to the drinks in the lull of music. Neither boy answered Michael, but Lucifer cried out in pain as the older twin raised his arm further, pushing his shoulder further out of socket. Sam raised his head to the noise. Michael kicked the back of Lucifer's knee, and the boy tumbled forward with an exclamation. With only one arm to catch him, he fell hard. Michael grabbed his other wrist when he landed, pinning both behind his back and shifted his knee to rest on the small of Lucifer's back.

He was only a foot from Sam, and Michael stared at him for what felt like forever.

"You brought Sam Winchester, a fifteen-year-old freshman, to this Den of Iniquity, Lucifer? He is your little brother's friend. He goes to church with us. He is a virtuous boy," Sam hung his head, ashamed. He still felt nauseous.

Michael was holding Lucifer down with his knee, and with his free hand he grabbed Sam's chin. He forced eye contact. Sam hiccupped.

"You got this boy drunk!" Michael hissed. Lucifer groaned as his brother shifted his weight, squishing his arms painfully against his back. "And you were about to…"

Michael exploded.

His voice was loud without the music; Sam was surprised that kids weren't flocking at the sound of a fight. Michael flipped his brother over. He had a knee digging into his chest, but allowed his younger twin to try and block the attacks to his face with his arms. They weren't useful. Sam sat back, ashamed, listening to various moral laws Lucifer was breaking. Michael was screaming about gays and their place in the afterlife. He was shifting his weight, gripping his brother's arms, to hold them to the side to punch him in the face. Lucifer was starting to fight back. The farther Michael went with his tirade, the more he screamed about corrupting the innocent and molesting a boy, the more Lucifer fought.

But Sam could only hear his own name being hissed from Lucifer's lips. _"Not Sam's fault… Don't blame Sam… Sam, I'm sorry."_

The screaming wasn't directed at Sam; he was just the young drunk boy unfortunate enough to trust Lucifer. Michael didn't blame him. He didn't see the way Sam leaned in, the way he wanted to kiss the older boy just as much as Lucifer had wanted to kiss him.

Michael was pushing farther and farther, screaming about the perversity of Lucifer's sin.

Lucifer got one good punch in with his left hand, before Michael shifted. His knee was suddenly pinning Lucifer's right arm down, and his left came up to make contact again. Michael grabbed the hand and slammed it into the ground to pin the boy and start on the attack again.

When his wrist hit the rock, there was a crack, followed by a carnal scream.

The fighting boys froze.

After a second, Michael lifted his body from his brother. The younger twin moaned in pain and gingerly moved his sore right arm to his broken left. He lifted the useless appendage and hugged it to his stomach before using his right arm to push himself to a seated position.

Sam crawled forward to help, to see the broken wrist, but Michael grabbed Lucifer by his right arm and pulled him to his feet. Lucifer staggered forward, as if suddenly three times drunker than he had been. Tears were drying to his cheeks, he had been crying before, but now he just looked dull.

His right arm cradled his left wrist to his chest. He looked at Sam like he didn't really see him. His eyes shifted to Michael, who gripped him by the right bicep and pulled him toward the forest.

Bringing him home, and hopefully, to the hospital.

Sam sat there on his hands and knees, alone as the music pulsed to life around him. He didn't have a place to stay. He didn't have a way home. He would have to walk and it would take twenty minutes.

He tried to stand, but a sudden wave of nausea brought him to his knees and he threw up.

When he tried to stand, he was far more successful on his second attempt.

He thought about giving up on hiding on Dean. He should go, find his brother on the dance floor, and get him to walk him home. Cry and tell him he was sorry. Swear he would never drink again. As he peered out among the crowd, he didn't see his brother anywhere. He had probably left with Castiel hours ago.

Sam fought a second wave of nausea and started walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:
> 
> -The song in the Bentley: "We are the Champions" by Queen
> 
> -Gabriel's song and dance number: "Body Shots" by Kaci Battaglia featuring Ludacris.
> 
> -The song Dean and Castiel dance to: "Starships" by Nicki Minaj
> 
> -The song playing before Lucifer and Michael's fight: "Glad you Came" by the Wanted.


	5. We Found Love in a Hopeless Place: Part I

 

**Chapter 5: We Found Love (Part I)**

Balthazar awoke from a very fitful sleep to a soft knock on his door. On the other side of the room, Gabriel rolled over to face away from him and groaned. It was a Saturday; his head was pounding. He wasn't missing school or church and he couldn't figure out why he couldn't sleep in.

The door cracked open.

Gabriel shifted and groaned again as he pulled the blankets over his head.

"Boys," It was Uriel, but he sounded different. Gabriel opened an eye, keeping his blankets well over his neck to look at his brother. He sounded exhausted. And worried. Besides Gabriel, Uriel was the funniest of the brothers. Light hearted. He didn't worry.

"Boys, we're having a family meeting in ten minutes. Get up and wash yourselves. Do so quietly."

And Uriel was gone. Gabriel went to the bathroom to scrub the kisses and sharpie from his neck, cursing his theatricality on the way. Balthazar didn't have the heart to scrub Bela's name from his heart. He changed his shirt but looked as odd in not a V-neck as Gabriel did with angry red welts from scrub marks.

Gabriel had shorts on. Balthazar didn't change out of his pajama pants.

All of their brothers, except for Castiel, were sitting on the couches and chairs surrounding the coffee table. Except for Lucifer. Lucifer looked the way the youngest boys felt. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, but he wasn't actually present. He stared at a spot on the floor, his eyes glossy. His left hand was cradled in his right, pulled tightly against his stomach. His face was so white he looked like a ghost.

He didn't look like he had gotten any sleep at all the night before. Instead, he looked like he had been forced to stay awake and sober up while his wrist throbbed in pain in time to his heartbeat.

Gabriel and Balthazar sat on the floor in front of the TV, almost completing the circle around their older brother.

They waited for a few moments in silence.

Michael stood. "Where is Castiel? Which one of you woke him?"

Raphael and Uriel shared a look. Zachariah looked down.

"Nobody thought to get Castiel?" Silence answered Michael again. "Did anyone even check to see if he was here last night?" The silence grew louder. Gabriel tried not to make eye contact with Balthazar, but they failed at it. Worry rose in their stomachs. Their brother was a wreck last night. If he wasn't home, he could be anywhere. With anyone.

Michael stormed down the hallway. He bumped into Lucifer as he walked past and the younger twin just moved, taking the bump and cradling his arm even closer. His eyes shut.

Gabriel and Balthazar reached for their phones. Each sent a quick message as they heard Michael shout for Castiel. The door slammed open against the inside wall. They heard Michael shout again.

Their phones were hidden by the time Michael returned, burning white hot. The rage was not something they saw often in older brother. His fingers clenched into fists.

"Where in hell is Castiel!?"

* * *

Dean's chest was slicked with sweat. In every spot where his body touched the body in front of him, there was a thin layer of perspiration. His forehead was placed between the bare shoulder blades. His arm was slung over the other person's stomach, protectively placed over the beating heart.

No boobs. It was a boy. In surprise, he pulled his hand away.

Dean didn't remember most of last night and though the hangover caused him to guess that last night was a success, he kind of really wished he could remember how he got here. In bed. With a boy. He leaned back and looked at the body in front of him. Dark hair. Castiel.

He sighed his relief. At least he didn't pick up some random boy. Cuddling was subconscious to Dean; one of the most embarrassing memories of his childhood involved a time when he and Sam had been on a vacation sharing a queen. It took him a long time to live that one down.

When Dean pulled away, Castiel sighed and lifted his arms above his head, stretching. He rolled toward Dean, opening his eyes about halfway and he smiled. The older boy's heart thudded in his chest. Castiel rolled toward him, stretching his arm behind Dean's head, pulling him down against his chest.

After a moment of panic, Dean calmed down and draped his arm over his friend's stomach again; although, he was kind of worried about what could have happened between them the night before that this would be a reasonable response from Castiel. He was suddenly in the position that girls often cuddled to him, but he didn't mind. His friend's chest was bony, but the way he draped his arm over Dean's shoulder and sighed again made the older boy feel… warm.

He fell back asleep.

He didn't have a clue how long he had been sleeping before he heard the door slam open and felt a hand shaking his shoulder.

His eyes opened to see Castiel's palm rubbing over his own face. His hand abandoned Dean's shoulder and he tried to roll over, but the older boy pinned him down. The younger boy looked down at what was blocking him, and Dean looked up. Their eyes locked for a moment – deer caught in each other's headlights – before Castiel gave a small smile.

"Hello, Dean."

"Good morning, Cas."

"Yes, yes. Look at the two of you all cute and cuddling. You need to get your asses up," Both of them shifted their focus to the boy before them. Sam was clenching his phone in one hand. He had on boxers with a t-shirt and his hair was a mess. His eyes were dark. He hadn't slept well, and he looked awful.

When Dean realized that his brother caught him in bed with his best friend, about thirteen seconds too late, Dean removed himself Castiel. He checked himself to make sure he wasn't naked. He had shorts on, thank god.

"What the hell, Sammy. Can't you knock?" Dean screeched.

"Like I haven't caught you in bed with someone before," Sam countered, annoyed. The younger Winchester held his phone out to Castiel, who took it with surprise. He sat up, his eyebrows furrowing at the message.

"What's it say?"

" _Is Cas with Dean? Mike caught Luci at the party and he can't find Cas. He's pissed._ It's from Gabriel." Castiel read aloud, before pushing the phone back at Sam and getting out of bed to find his own phone. He was still wearing jeans with his belt on and everything.

He searched the room for a minute, and Sam shot a quizzical look at Dean, one that the older boy misinterpreted as _'So you're gay now?'_

Every ounce of Dean's energy went into mentally screaming _'Fuck you'_ at his brother.

After throwing on his shirt, Castiel found his phone in his pants. He had a handful of voice mails and several text messages. All of which centered around the same theme: get your ass home, Lucifer is in trouble, and Michael can't find you.

"It sounds like Lucifer must have had a great night, if Michael's that riled up," Dean commented as he found his own shirt and put it on.

"Michael _broke_ Lucifer's arm at the party last night, Dean. I think this is serious," Sam snapped back. Realizing that the other boys may question how he knew that, he threw in, "Gabriel said they hadn't taken him to the doctor, yet. He's just sitting on the table holding it to his chest in pain."

"Well, shit," Dean said, sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing the sweat from his face. Sam should have known better. They were both pretty trashed last night. They wouldn't have the cognitive ability to question Sam this morning.

Castiel sat down to put on his shoes, suddenly in a rush. He threw on one of Dean's long-sleeved plaid shirts to cover what was left of the older boy's name and stood awkwardly before the Winchesters like he was going to say something. With both of them looking at him like that, it made him nervous, and his throat closed. Instead of saying anything, he walked up to Dean and leaned over him.

Dean's body reacted automatically, leaning to the younger boy and kissing him as if he had done it a thousand times. When their lips touched, a rush of images flowed back from the party. The drugs, the dancing, the kissing. Walking home with their fingers intertwined, laughing and pinning each other to lamp posts to lazily kiss under the lights.

He was surprised by the smile he felt on his lips when Castiel pulled away.

"See you later," Dean breathed. Castiel smiled back. He turned on his heels and walked out the door.

Dean waited until he heard the front door shut before confronting Sam. The younger boy was texting on his phone and didn't know Dean was staring at him until he hit send and looked up.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Sammy, about Castiel…" He shifted uncomfortably. "It's not that… I don't like dudes!… It's just that… It's just… Cas…"

The younger brother approached him on the bed. Dean wondered what he would do. Would he punch him? Would he disown him? He was surprised when he was poked in the shoulder.

"You owe me twenty bucks. You made me lose a bet with Gabriel. Jerk."

Dean looked up at him and breathed a sigh of relief as a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Bitch."

* * *

Castiel cut through back yards and jogged to get home quicker. He texted Gabriel along the way and met him at his bedroom window. His youngest brother tossed something out, and Castiel caught it easily. Gabriel disappeared from the window, and Castiel walked in the front door, doing a pretty good job of acting surprised to see all his brothers in the living room.

Gabriel was walking from the bathroom, but the rest of the boys turned to face him. Except Lucifer who was still staring at the spot on the floor. Michael stood, rushing to Castiel the way a worried mother would: half furious and half relieved.

"Where have you been, Castiel?"

The younger boy held up a full prescription bottle of Xanax. Michael looked at it for a second before pulling his younger brother in for a tight hug. The other boys couldn't have heard, but the whispered prayers shot from Michael went a little something like, "Thank you God for not taking two of my brothers from me."

Castiel removed himself without hugging back. He walked to his room to put his alibi back where he told Gabriel he would find it (after taking one, of course) and grabbed two Perocets from the dresser drawer. He was almost out – six left – and he thought about keeping the two in his hand because he would need money soon. But he couldn't do that to Lucifer. He was his brother. He stayed with him on his darkest day.

He smelled his shirt – Red Bull and black licorice and sweat – and was surprised Michael didn't smell the sin on him. He changed it before he headed out to sit on the floor next to Gabriel, completing the ring of brothers around the blasphemer. It had been a long time since a circle like this had been formed. But of course, the last time it had been for Lucifer too.

Someone had stolen a ball from him at the playground. He threw a punch. It was his first serious fight. He had been thirteen. Their mother explained what it meant to be wrathful and how to control anger.

Their mother had explained and taught. When Michael stood before them again, Castiel couldn't help but feel like this was an unfair trail. The six boys sitting in a circle surrounding the defendant and prosecutor were a jury of fearful boys, too afraid to be the one to stand out and say something on the defendant's behalf.

"Last night Lucifer was told he was not allowed to attend Crowley's party. It is a sinful, archaic tradition that we – being children of God – are above. And yet, although he received a warning from myself and knew in his heart that God did not want him to live that lifestyle, he still chose to attend the lustful soiree."

Lucifer was still staring at the spot on the floor. He looked nauseous from a lack of sleep and the pain. If Sam was right and his arm was broken last night, it seemed malicious to keep him awake and in agony. Broken bones didn't just heal. Sometimes they needed to be re-set. They needed to be kept completely still in order to grow back together. A fragment could have broken off into his arm. He could need surgery.

Although Gabriel and Balthazar were looking down in shame – hiding in the guilt that they were both there as well – Castiel looked up at Michael. Michael looked pained to say it. Perhaps he thought he was doing God's work by humiliating his brother. Growing up, Castiel had heard how close Michael believed the two of them were – divinely connected as twins who shared the names of the warrior archangels – but Castiel doubted Michael knew his twin at all. He doubted Michael knew the pain Lucifer suffered with, the scars that marked his arms hidden now by the way the boy held his broken wrist to his stomach.

Anger flared in Castiel.

"And while this type of offence would normally result in a conventional meditation and reflection, after much prayer for guidance, God has told me what needs to happen so Lucifer may learn his lesson. He did not simply go to the party…"

The younger boys looked up again, confused. All of them had received a meditation time-out. It was no big deal, a slap on the (broken) wrist, and all was forgiven. Being as religious as they were, forgiveness came easy.

Lucifer, meanwhile, looked down. His shoulders shook as if he were silently sobbing.

"When I finally found your brother last night, he was on a hill with Sam Winchester. The younger boy, only a few months older than Gabriel mind you, was severely intoxicated." Michael grabbed Lucifer by the back of his hair and forced his head up. He whimpered in pain and his eyes shot open. They were red and wet. His eyes met Castiel's, begging him silently.

Castiel held his gaze in confusion, but in his peripheral vision he saw Gabriel and Balthazar look at each other too. So what about Sam?

"And when I _found_ your brother, he was trying to take advantage of Sam."

The tiniest shake came from Lucifer's head.

Oh.

"He was trying to kiss him."

Oh.

"And homosexuality is strictly forbidden in the Bible."

Oh.

_Oh._

It wasn't the pain of his arm being broken by a person he was so close to – so close that they shared a womb – that got Lucifer to react to the intervention. Or maybe it was the pain that kept him from reacting. But when his actual sin was said aloud, in front of his brothers, in front of Sam's friends, it was too much for him. His left arm stayed at his chest, but his right hand came up to hide his face.

His shoulder shook with his sobs.

Castiel was angry again.

He crawled to his brother on his hands and knees and sat before him. He reached out and grabbed Lucifer's hand that was hiding his face and brought it to lips. Castiel kissed the hand before bringing it to his forehead.

"Father…" he breathed.

Lucifer remembered. He remembered the night he defended Castiel and was hit by Michael. He remembered seeing the way Castiel rested on Dean. He remembered walking past them on the dance floor, seeing them grind against each other. And he remembered seeing the way Crowley looked at his younger brother.

Lucifer wanted to push the younger boy away. He would fall by himself; there was no reason for Castiel to out himself and live in rejection from his brothers. When Michael stood up, Lucifer was ready to fight for the younger boy again. If he tried to swing at Castiel, he would have to go through Lucifer first.

But Michael grabbed Balthazar and Uriel's hands, and the remaining boys formed a prayer circle around the two of them. Michael was praying for God to _cure_ Lucifer. To make him better again.

Castiel let go of Lucifer's hands and pulled his older brother closer, in a hug, whispering his prayer quietly, but blocking out Michael.

"Father, guide us. Bless us, father. And bless Dean and Sam. Keep them safe. And keep us safe. And Lucifer, remember you are not alone, for I kneel here with you in the eyes of the Lord. And remember that we are not alone, for we are but two humans and God created seven billion of us so we never have to stand alone. Remember and honor the commandments: Love the Lord, thy God, with all your heart, and love thy neighbor as thyself."

Lucifer's arm wrapped tightly around his brother, tears falling from his eyes. He hid his face in the rock that was Castiel's shoulder.

"1 Peter 4:8 says, _'Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.'_ Remember that, Lucifer." Castiel gave his brother another squeeze and pulled back. The others were still praying, and while their eyes were closed, he slipped one pill between Lucifer's lips and tucked the other into the breast pocket of his shirt. Lucifer looked confused, and Castiel whispered, "For the pain. I love you, brother."

The others finished soon after. Castiel got Lucifer a drink of water and it wasn't questioned, even when he struggled to swallow the pill down at first. Castiel returned to his spot by Gabriel and noticed the younger boy was wiping tears from his face. Balthazar looked solemnly into his lap.

They didn't meet his gaze, but then again, Castiel had never tried to get his brother's attention before. The younger boys had seen him with Dean last night – practically on his lap, probably kissing if they looked at the right moment – and there's nothing like outing yourself to your brothers by making out with a dude in front of them.

Were they ashamed of him?

Lucifer's Percocets would take fifteen minutes to have an effect, so he was back to cradling his arm and occasionally whimpering in pain if he moved too quickly. Castiel felt this whole emotional intervention coming to an end and figured it would only be a little while longer until he went to the hospital.

"Last night when Lucifer was returned to us, I prayed for answers. For hours, I sat and prayed. And finally, God bestowed an answer upon me," Michael stood over Lucifer and younger twin bowed his head. Interventions always ended like this. The leader would place a hand on the sinner's head, pray for a restoration of grace, and all would be forgiven.

Michael pulled Lucifer up by his good arm. It caused him to move his broken arm and he cried out in surprise and pain.

"I cast you out, Lucifer. You are cast out of this house, out of this family, and out of our covenant with God," He started strong, but with each word, Michael's voice crumbled around him. Michael was only eighteen as well, hardly a fearless leader, and rejecting a twin was difficult. Even if he thought it was God's will. "You have five minutes to gather some clothing. Leave your key and your cell phone here."

Lucifer was dumbfounded. Everyone was. His hand gripped Michael's shoulder for support, but the older boy brushed him off.

"You're disowning me, brother?" Lucifer asked. "Because I went to a party in high school?"

"Because you are a sinner," Michael corrected.

"Because I tried to kiss Sam?" Lucifer clarified.

"Because you are gay, Lucifer. You cannot be around the younger boys or you will corrupt them with your filth," If Michael had been holding back before, this sentence was said with enough venom to paralyze and kill a person.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, and Castiel flashbacked to _Paradise Lost_ when a third of the angels rose up with Lucifer to challenge God. Even if he stood up with his brother, two-thirds of someone else would need to support them to make it the equivalent.

Castiel expected a fight, but Lucifer numbed again, surrendering to the loss of grace and the pain of his broken arm. He walked silently to his room and four excruciatingly long minutes later, he walked out with a backpack full. That was all he had to his name. A backpack full of crap from his bedroom. Mostly clothes, maybe some drugs, and doubtfully some money.

He was out the door without a glance back.

Castiel was exhausted. He didn't sleep well with amphetamines coursing through him. Coming down with the Xanax was comforting, and he was sure he could sleep until church in about twenty-four hours. He wasn't the only one who looked like he had betrayed Michael by drinking heavily into the wee hours of the morning. Gabriel had put his head on Balthazar's shoulder and seemed to finally be breathing again.

"For the rest of the day, we will pray for Lucifer's deliverance from evil," Michael announced. Raphael got out his guitar. Castiel heard Balthazar groan.

* * *

Dean was far too self-involved to notice Sam looked and felt like shit. Sam swore off alcohol for good after he threw up three times before he was halfway home last night. He prayed for death a block away when he couldn't stand up from where he had fallen in the grass for three minutes. He wasn't even sore this morning, he wasn't sure how he'd fallen.

He'd gotten home somewhere close to 1:30 am and heard the other two come in an hour later when he was still hunched over the toilet. Luckily, the other two held their alcohol better than Sam did.

Unluckily, they held their alcohol better than Sam did.

Thank God John never came home last night or Dean would have some serious explaining to do. Though it was doubtful there was any rational explaining away of the very very obvious sounds of heavy making out. Sam's only solace was that Dean was a gentlemen when he was drunk and when Castiel made a grab for him, Dean chuckled some two-bit line about not giving it up on the first date.

Castiel had said, "Remember Burger King? This is our second date."

And Dean's chuckle grew nervous and he said, "Too drunk. Don't want to regret it."

Castiel growled, "You won't regret it," and Dean gave a sound of pleasure so vile and disgusting, Sam had never even heard it in a porno before. But soon after that he figured they both had fallen asleep because Sam doubted they could do anything quietly when they were that strung out.

Sam wished he could burn last night from his mind.

And despite Dean's constant hovering to make sure that Sam knew he wasn't gay or an alcoholic or a drug user – which was funny because his older brother proved that he was _all_ of those things last night – Sam wasn't really thinking about his brother's faults. He couldn't get the sound of the break and Lucifer's scream out of his mind. He couldn't shake the image of all the feelings in his eyes before he tried to kiss him. And he couldn't help but wondering if Lucifer really meant to try and kiss him or if it was just an emotionally charged moment paired with the alcohol.

Even though Dean was sitting low on the couch with a soda on his knee like he was nursing a beer and feeling sorry for himself, he noticed – eventually – that Sam wasn't all there with him. He didn't prompt him at all until he switched it from cartoons to a local televised circus. When two clowns sprayed each other with their flowers and his baby brother didn't wince, Dean had to say something.

"You're pissed at me," Dean shut the television off and sat up. Sam looked at him, hung over, really not ready for this conversation again. "I don't do drugs, Sammy. It was a one-time thing last night, I swear. And yeah, I shouldn't have drank so much. I should be better than Dad for you. And about Cas…"

Sam's face softened a bit, and Dean held his breath. So it was about Castiel. He started formulating his argument.

It was the drugs and he had no actual attraction or affection for Castiel. The attraction part was a huge lie. He could remember over the past week when little things the younger boy did caught his eye. The way he would stretch and a thin layer of stomach would show. The way he had absolutely no respect for personal space. The way he would stare at Dean, giant anime eyes that seemed disproportionate to his face because they were so friggin' blue, at all times.

Even thinking of him now, he couldn't deny that he was attracted to Castiel. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was in the affection.

Dean Winchester cared about a handful of people. Sam and Bobby, his dad (if he was being honest), and Ellen – a friend of John's – and her sixteen-year-old daughter Jo. Five people in his life that he cared about and one let him down on a regular basis. Those five had been set in him for so long, he wondered if it was even possible to open up to a new person.

"Do you love him?" the words were so quiet, Dean barely heard them over his own thoughts.

Luckily, the words that shot out of Dean's mouth were reasonable: "I've only known him two weeks."

The answer seemed enough for Sam, but it didn't help the older boy at all. Two weeks. It took him less than two weeks and almost no physical contact or flirtation for him to go gay for someone. Well, bisexual, he guessed. He wanted to hit himself over the head.

"Romeo and Juliet met, got married, and killed themselves over a weekend," Sam added, trying to be helpful.

It didn't really help, so Dean didn't say anything.

"So are you, like, going steady now?"

And that – well, okay, that and everything else – was the part that was killing Dean. He imagined this big long, fluffy moment where they discussed their feelings and declare their undying love for each other. He wanted validation but honestly, in two weeks, he hadn't learned a lot about Castiel. He could be a prostitute shoving any old guy's dick in his mouth for money. Then Dean would have to save him and teach him how to be a proper dude like in _Pretty Woman._ His life already sucked trying to feed his brother. The last thing he needed was to reform a prostitute.

But Castiel wasn't a prostitute – at least, Dean was pretty sure of that – so what was he really afraid of?

He wanted to slap himself and say _No Chick-flick Moments._ This wasn't one of Sam's little teenybopper dramas where the gay kids come out and their parents disown them but their love could withstand it all. _Nothing had changed_. He wasn't any different from who he was yesterday morning. He just happened to have made out with a boy between then and now. And just happened to have liked it.

"Look, Sammy, I'm putting this out on the table right now. I don't know how I feel about Cas. I like him, I guess. I mean if he came back here and wanted to… do stuff… I would do it, okay? If that makes me gay…"

"I would say that's pretty much the textbook definition of gay, but that's not really true. I mean, messing around with one guy doesn't negate how you feel about women, so I'm going with probably bisexual..."

"… Then so be it. But I am still the same guy, alright? I still love Metallica and I still love the Impala and I'm still your big brother."

Sam waited for him to continue, but he was looking at Sam like he was expecting an explosion. "Yeah?"

"Yeah what?" Dean asked.

"Is that all?" Dean nodded and Sam rolled his eyes and continued, "Do you want me to get pissed and throw you out? Would that make you feel better about this?"

"A little bit, I think, yeah."

"Seriously, dude. So what, you made out with Cas. No big. It seriously _seriously_ doesn't bother me at all. No more than if you were making out with some random chick. So stop making a big ass deal out of nothing. Just breathe, Dean. It'll all be alright."

Dean hadn't even realized he was holding his breath until he allowed himself to suck air in. He did feel better. He let out a small smile, and Sam returned it. And Dean knew this would be the last time either of them would bring it up. It was said, it was done, and that was it.

"Yeah, just… um… next time shut your door and be a bit quieter, okay?" Sam joked. "I don't need to hear the exact moment my brother gets a dick shoved up his…"

"Okay. _You're_ a dick, and I need to go to work," Dean stood and ran up the steps, but both of them were smiling.

* * *

It was a pretty bad break, the doctors had said, and they weren't sure how he dealt with the pain overnight. Lucifer had shrugged. He was half asleep from the drugs and the exhaustion of no sleep the night before. He couldn't tell them that every time he got close to succumbing to the pain and blacking out his twin brother would slap him across the face hissing that he didn't deserve sleep because he was a disgusting sinner.

The doctors had taken a look at his arm paired with the bruises on his face and other injuries – including the fact that his right shoulder had a hairline fracture from where Michael pinned it behind his back – and asked what happened. Michael hadn't beaten him as kids, not really, but he had seen enough _Stop Child Abuse_ adds to know the typical answer was to say he fell down some stairs.

He thought the doctor bought it too, until he asked if the stairs had a name.

Regardless of what the guy thought, he couldn't really do much. Lucifer was an adult – eighteen years and two months old, as he was painfully aware of every time he thought of fifteen years and four months old Sam Winchester – so they couldn't call child services. They could call the police for assault if he mentioned it was a person. But his wounds were sort of consistent enough with a real fall down the stairs to where it would be his word against the doctors.

With no proof, they casted him up, gave him his own prescription for some Oxycodone, and sent him on his way only three hours later.

Now his only question was where would he go?

He could only think about Sam.

What bothered him about the whole trying-to-kiss-Sam-and-getting-kicked-out-of-the-h ouse thing wasn't the fact that Sam was a boy, and that surprised him more than anything. He'd never even thought of another boy in a romantic way before. It wasn't that he really thought about Sam in the way he thought about girls, either. He didn't imagine pinning him down and fucking him mercilessly until he was screaming his name. Just thinking about how he _didn't_ think about that felt dirty and wrong and blasphemous.

He loved Sam.

It was strange; one minute he didn't know who the kid was. He recognized him from church and around the house, but he couldn't put a name to the face. The next minute, the kid – the stranger – was telling him he was more than a boy who had the devil's name. The name wasn't a curse or an excuse to be bad. It was a challenge to be accepted and risen above. The moment he drew the shooting star on the younger kid's arm, he knew he loved him.

About eight months ago, Castiel was sitting in the sun behind their house reading a book. It wasn't often that the two of them talked, but Lucifer was aiming to walk upstairs and kill himself. It would have been the fifth time since Christmas he took a knife to himself, wishing for death but unable to make fatal wounds knowing suicide was a mortal sin. Despite his name, he really didn't want to spend eternity in hell. But every day here was exhausting; it was getting hard to determine what he actually thought and what the demons whispering to him told him to think. He was sick of playing. Anyway, since Lucifer intended to go upstairs and die, he wanted to have a goodbye with someone.

Castiel may not have been the best one to approach. He hadn't said a word to anyone in almost six months, since their dad left. The younger boy didn't even look up to acknowledge Lucifer until he was shadowing the book, blocking out all light.

"What are you reading?" Lucifer asked.

The boy didn't speak; he always found a way around it. He held up the book. It was Pluto's _Symposium_.

"You're reading that for school?" Castiel shook his head. "For fun?" His voice rang with disbelief, and the younger boy frowned and looked back down at the book.

Lucifer sat down, feeling like an ass.

"It's just, people don't usually read Plato for pleasure do they?" Castiel ignored him, and Lucifer sat with him for a few moments. Eventually, the younger brother relaxed at the intrusion and went back to reading. They stayed like that for a few pages, before Lucifer started feeling knives start to scrape across his skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move. He gritted his teeth and pressed again. "What's it about?"

Castiel looked up as if he were annoyed. When their eyes met, his features softened, like he could tell Lucifer wanted to die or something.

"Aristophanes just gave his speech about soul mates," Castiel's voice was scratchy and it was far deeper than Lucifer remembered.

"And how does that one go again?"

"When humans were first created, there were three genders. Men, women, and these beings with four arms, four legs, one head and two faces," Castiel cleared his throat, bringing his hand up to rub his neck. He'd said all of three sentences and his throat was killing him. Poor guy. "Zeus was afraid of them so he split them apart so they'd always be wandering around looking for their other half. When two of those people meet, it's intense. They're soul mates."

They sat in silence again for a while, but Castiel didn't go back to reading. He kept forcing himself to swallow and rubbing his throat.

"Is there a soul mate out there for everyone, do you think?"

Castiel shook his head and pointed to the book. Three genders – that would mean that only fifty percent of people had a soul mate according to that legend. Lucifer was sure he was would be the one without one. He looked down, hand going to the sleeve of his jacket. He scratched at a scab on his wrist.

"But," Castiel cleared his throat again, hardly able to speak in more than a whisper. "But I think that those who do have soul mates know the instant they meet them. It's divine."

Lucifer had appreciated that Castiel hadn't given him a bullshit line about how he'd find his soul mate one day when he had said it, but thinking back on it, he could imagine Castiel saying, "In about eight months you'll meet Sam Winchester and you'll know instantly that you will never be happy again unless he is a major part of your life."

It would make him feel a lot less stupid for thinking about it now anyway.

Lucifer stopped walking and looked up. He was actually surprised his feet didn't lead him to the Winchesters' home. He half expected that he would subconsciously go to Sam. Instead, led by the drugs and divine inspiration, he was at the abandoned, graffitied church behind the school.

The stained glass windows were unmarked, but the rest of the way around the building was covered tags. A few years ago, it had been cool to draw fake sigils on the building. Kids would invent designs and say it would protect the school from demons, or it would keep out angels, or that it was the universal sign for party. It made the church look really cool, but it was nonsense.

Lucifer went around to the side and opened the window that led into the office in the basement of the church. It was dusty and everything looked old and smelled stale. He made his way to the hallway and climbed the stairs. He was in the reception area. Tables were turned over, covered in dust and grime. It was a wide open hall. The sanctuary was through a door on the left. When he walked in, he was behind the altar looking out at the pews.

Jesus was on the cross, hanging behind him.

Lucifer fell to his knees with the altar between him and the Savior.

The altar was a slab of concrete covered with a purple cloth. On his knees, it was as tall as he was. Lucifer's elbows went to the altar with his hands clenched in prayer. He put his head against the dusty fabric and put his hands behind his head. The tears started instantly.

Lucifer wanted to pray. He wanted to ask for guidance. The moment he left the house he felt as if his grace had been taken from him, that God was no longer with him, and he realized every depression he had felt before now was nothing. God had never left him before, but now he truly felt empty. Abandoned by his family and his Father.

And he could feel that hole filling with anger. The love he had for Michael was being replaced with black hate. Vengeance was never good; he needed to hold onto the love. As he sat here, trying to pray for guidance, the only thing that he felt was rage. It bubbled through him like his blood was lava. If he were sitting in a sanctuary, on his knees before God, and this was what was consuming him, would that make his rage divine?

He didn't know. He was so tired.

The rage was scaring him. He had never been good at controlling himself.

" _My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?_ " Lucifer sobbed, he clenched his hands together behind his head. " _Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest_."

Lucifer separated his elbows, tipping his head up, looking at Jesus on the cross through his elbows, begging, _"I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint. My heart has turned to wax; it has melted within me. But you, Lord, do not be far from me. You are my strength; come quickly to help me. I will declare your name to my people; in the assembly I will praise you._ "

He knelt before the statue of Jesus for a while, what felt like hours in his drugged state of exhaustion. For a moment, he thought he felt something light beating at the rising hate in his heart. But then it went away, he was empty again.

He buried his face in the crook of his right, uncasted arm and cried.

* * *

Saturday nights at Bobby's were usually a joke unless they were swamped. People couldn't drop their cars off for the normal stuff on weekends – emergency only – but they had the tough problems to work on. Still, they had Sunday morning to work seriously.

This Sunday was no different. Both men were agitated that they had so much to do before they could leave the shop for the night. Dean was content to work through lunch; it wasn't like he had any food to eat anyway, but Bobby ordered a pizza and who was Dean to deny him the hospitality?

Dean rolled out from under the car to scrub his hands, but couldn't get all of the grease off of them. No worries, though. Bobby ate with grease covered hands all the time and he wasn't dead yet.

As he ate his slice of pizza he looked down over the engine, trying to figure out what was wrong with it.

"John still there?"

Dean shook his head, grateful that the food was in his mouth to keep him from answering. Bobby sighed and sat down.

"You got enough money to feed you and Sam for two weeks before he's back?"

Dean shrugged. "I've had to take care of him for longer without dad. I get paid Thursday. That'll be a hundred and fifty, right? We'll go to the Roadhouse on Friday and double it if we're lucky. That'll feed us and leave us with some extra for some new clothes or shoes. I swear, Bobby, dude's growing an inch a night."

Bobby smiled, but shook his head. "You shouldn't even risk it at the Roadhouse, Dean. You can make it two weeks on a hundred and fifty. You can't on fifty if you get drunk and cocky."

Dean chuckled, "You know I can't drink in a bar. Even Jo won't serve me."

"Smart girl."

They ate in a comfortable silence until Dean started fiddling with the engine from the top side. After staring into the car for another fifteen seconds, he turned and faced his employer with a giant smirk plastered against his face.

"It's the ignition switch."

"What?" Bobby asked.

"It won't start because of the ignition switch. It isn't the battery and it isn't a starter."

"Lady on the phone said she just replaced it two months ago."

Dean grinned, walking past Bobby to exit to the junkyard behind the shop. "Yeah, but it's a shitty Saturn and they're known to go on them."

It took less than half an hour for Dean to replace the ignition switch. He had been right. The car started after they set the lock code for the new switch. With their only problem done, they were able to sit back and enjoy a beer before they worked on the Impala.

All and all, a perfect Sunday.

* * *

The same could not be said for Sam and the Novaks. When the Winchester boy arrived at the Novaks' home before church, the Novaks were unnaturally lethargic. Balthazar and Gabriel still looked hung over and Castiel had regressed three weeks. He was sitting by himself on the couch, in a separate room from everyone else, silent and staring at his hands.

The older boys didn't look as bad as the younger, but even Zachariah was uncharacteristically quiet as he sipped the coffee.

Michael had on his usual suit and tie, but he was ghostly white. It was a stark contrast from the bags under his eyes. He looked like a corpse, like he couldn't cry a single tear more if he was forced to.

It had been really late Saturday night before Gabriel had any time to text Sam the details, but when he had, they had been heartbreaking. It had been a full twenty-four hours since they had heard from Lucifer – something unheard of even for the wild brother. Michael had thrown him out – because of Sam – which was something that even the younger Novak boys didn't hold against him. It made Sam feel even worse.

Instead, Lucifer left and Michael told them they would be praying all day. Within five minutes, the twinless middle child collapsed, grasping his chest and whimpering "my grace, my grace" in pain.

To Sam, it seemed like a message from God that Michael was wrong. But Michael was blinded by hate and love and fear, and those were powerful emotions to sort out in one day.

It would all blow over in a week or so.

When Michael stood to lead them in a pre-service prayer, he was shaking and weak. Sam couldn't bow his head and pray for Lucifer to straighten out – it seemed blasphemous to try and change somebody, especially somebody he so desperately wanted to stay the same – so he looked around at the wary family.

The older boys were loyal servants. The two youngest were submitting because of fear.

And Castiel was in the corner. He drew his knees to his chest, buried his face in his arms, and rocked back and forth.

Looking back at it, Sam knew that the first clash between the twins happened at church that morning. It was before they had raised gangs or armies. It was before they were so consumed with hatred and self-righteous bullshit that they should have been able to reconcile before things got out of hand and innocent people were hurt.

It was a chance that God gave them to prove that they were more than men before Lawrence was turned into Armageddon and a war worthy of their biblical namesakes was raged.

Before the sermon started, when the pastors and choir were still in their offices, the Novaks and Sam sat in the row of comfortable, cushion chairs. Sam was between Castiel and Gabriel, but he felt the temperature drop in the room as Michael stood and turned around.

How the older twin had felt his brother walk up to the sanctuary was something Sam couldn't explain, but it could have been a freaky twin thing. The other members of the Novak family turned to see what agitated their brother.

He was not dressed for church. Instead, he had a gray t-shirt, a green button up jacket with the sleeves rolled up, and dark jeans. He probably hadn't had a shower – his hair stood up more than normal – but he looked clean. His arm had a white cast on it, and he didn't appear to be in pain.

His body language and face were set. He didn't look like he was apologizing for anything but was about to attempt to take his rightful place like Rosa Parks not standing up on the bus. His shoulders were squared. Even though he had a jacket on, the cast stuck out from the end of his wrist like a weapon or a promise.

Sam stood, Castiel away from Michael.

Lucifer's eyes shifted to the Winchester sitting among his brother and his features softened. The fight drained from him and was replaced with worry. Sam took a step to walk toward him, but Gabriel and Balthazar stood and stopped him.

Not against him, Sam didn't think, but he wasn't sure. Gabriel gave the tiniest shake of his head. Saving him. He didn't need to publically equated with Lucifer – not at this stage of the argument.

Sam tried to mentally scream something to Lucifer – an apology, a declaration of… something, anything – but it got dissipated in the air between them. Lucifer looked unsure suddenly. And Michael shook his head. Lucifer wasn't welcome here anymore.

Without a fight, the pariah left.

The row sat down and the choir came out to lead the congregation through a song. Sam clenched his hands on the chair before him to keep himself standing. At the end of the first song, his knuckles were white.

Michael stood tall and sang, but he kept rubbing the tears from his eyes before they could fall.

* * *

Dean would never admit it to Sam, but he was scared as hell to go to school Monday morning. It wasn't every weekend he got really drunk and made out with a dude at a very public party. He was confident that he could take anyone who would have a problem with it, but the teen prided himself on being an alpha male loner and alpha male loners didn't usually hook up with other dudes.

But Sam wasn't an idiot. He could tell something was bothering Dean and there were only two major differences between this weekend and any other weekend: the drugs he took and making out with Castiel. And Sam doubted the drugs bothered him all that much.

It was supposed to hit eighty by 11am, but Dean dug his brown leather jacket out of the closet – anything to look tougher. Sam sighed, shoveling a spoonful of cheerios in his mouth. He thought the older boy was worrying for nothing. He didn't almost kiss a boy which resulted in a broken wrist and a disowning. If Sam was outted as the reason behind all of that, his life would be hell forever. Sam was less afraid of Lucifer's bitches than he was of Dean.

Dean really didn't have a choice but to accept Sam – if that's what it came to – considering the older boy made out with his best friend. But he didn't have to like the choice in bedfellow or the fact he had been very drunk at a party.

They walked to school in almost complete silence. Their only conversation was short, and it happened halfway to school.

Sam asked, "Have you heard from Cas?"

Dean replied with a negative.

"So are you dating or did he just make out with you and dump you?"

"Jesus, Sam. Not now."

John had left them something close to forty dollars when he left this time. It only needed to last until Thursday when Dean got paid, so they stopped at the vending machine before the first bell rang. Sam got a bag of chips, and Dean dilly-dallied as he picked out a Three Musketeers and a pack of M&Ms.

Sam thought it was adorable that his older brother was wasting time hoping the Novak posse would walk in so he could see Castiel.

No luck.

In fact, it wasn't until Sam was in his homeroom that he saw Gabriel. He looked annoyed, which undoubtedly had something to do with the suit he was wearing. The second he walked in, he unbuttoned the jacket and took it off. He plopped down next to Sam and loosened the black tie.

Sam didn't even need to ask.

"Fucking Michael," was answer enough.

Through the morning announcements, the youngest Novak filled him in with the weekend he had: from sneaking out of the senior party, to the sounds of Lucifer's groaning all night as Michael kept him up, to his banishment ("If you weren't such a pretty moose none of this would happen," Gabriel joked, but he still didn't actually blame Sam), to the hours and hours and hours and hours of praying. Sam had been at the church, so Gabriel skipped to that night when Michael had a full-on seizure. He dropped to floor and started convulsing. When he finally woke up, he had had this divine message from God which involved setting up a youth group in the school which _somehow_ meant they all had to wear monkey suits from now on.

Gabriel took a giant breath after that, but it didn't matter. The bell rang and the boys had to separate for first period.

* * *

Crowley had gone longer than a weekend without seeing Castiel before, but he couldn't really remember one in the past month. And considering he hadn't really seen the boy since the pole dance strip tease, he had a pretty strong idea that the younger boy was either getting clean or found a new dealer.

One does not simply stop on a high point like that.

It didn't stop him from smoking into the vent in the boy's bathroom during Castiel's lunch period, hoping the younger boy would come in for some pot.

When the door swung open, Crowley closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone knew he set up shop in here at this time. He hadn't seen anyone but Castiel since school started. Sure, business was slow but he could get it to pick up if he cared more about the profits than the dark haired boy.

Which he started to admit to himself he didn't.

When Lucifer walked around the door, Crowley must have looked disappointed because the taller boy just grinned and said, "Well if you're expecting someone else, I can come back."

The British teen took another long drag from the cigarette before tossing it into the toilet and flushing. "Nah," he blew out. "What can I do for you, Satan?"

"I'm sure you've heard the rumors, _Tony_." Lucifer sneered, hating being referred to as the devil by the other boy as much as Crowley hated anyone using any variation of his first name. Now that they were scowling and pissed at each other, it was the first time for a deal. "About Michael breaking my arm at your party and kicking me out of the house."

"Indeed," Crowley said, crossing his arms. "Didn't hear what you did to warrant that, though. Whole argument seems really one-sided to me. I'm sure you deserved it."

Lucifer sighed. "I tried to kiss Sam."

Crowley was uncharacteristically silent. It was common knowledge, at least it was so obvious to him that he figured everyone else knew, that he hated Lucifer. His parents named him for the devil – Crowley just inherited his family name – an Ozzy song about a demon. Devil outranks demon and Crowley wanted to be the King of this Hell.

Why Lucifer would risk everything by telling him this was beyond him.

"Sam Winchester?"

Lucifer scratched at his forearm where the cast met the skin.

From trying to save Sam on Friday to his unwanted sympathy for the devil today, Crowley was sure he was about to get his first period. His mother would be so proud. And Crowley thought he would look very pretty with a Prada bag tucked under his arm.

"Lucifer…"

"I think we were made for each other, Sam and me," Lucifer practically whined, as if he needed Crowley to understand he wasn't a pervert or a sexual deviant – not that saying that convinced the British boy of anything other than his and Lucifer's menstrual cycles were about to sync. God help the school.

"What do you need from me, Lucifer?" Crowley asked, much more gentle this time.

"I am named for the prideful angel who refused to bow to humanity and fell because of it. I have only ever been as good as I could be. Sure, I've gotten into fights and everything, but I could have been so much worse, and they haven't appreciated my restraint. My sacrifices. I acted out of love at that party – of the most pure and holy love I have ever felt in my life – and I was punished. I feel abandoned by my father – my brother casted me out. I want what anyone would want in my situation…"

Lucifer always held the cool calm of a psychopath. He burned cold. But the flares in his eyes were dark and unfamiliar to Crowley. Well, not unfamiliar to Crowley – he had seen the look before – but never on Lucifer. He'd seen it in his brother's eyes. Castiel's.

The dark burn of budding addiction. The way Castiel's eyes grew as he pushed the syringe into his veins. The calm darkness as he accept his fate – accepted whatever payment Crowley wanted, on his hands and knees like a whore, unashamed – as long as he could get what he wanted in the end. Lucifer was letting himself go into rage and revenge. He wasn't thinking straight.

And Crowley was a king of manipulation.

Lucifer was breaking; no, he was already broken. The unstable boy had been breaking for years. Sam Winchester was just the catalyst. And Crowley was getting bored here, anyway. Petty drug deals were below him. It wouldn't take much – drugs as superglue, an empire as a bandage – to morph the blond boy into a walking, talking figurehead of sin and decadence.

As long as Michael suffered, Lucifer would dance willingly as Crowley pulled his strings.

And Crowley could, indeed, arrange that.

The British teen slipped an arm around Lucifer's shoulders. He was physically cold to the touch, but then again, Crowley always did burn a little hot himself. The connection, once made physical, was instant, and even Lucifer felt the magnitude of their partnership. The possibilities.

"Oh, Luci. I do believe we just became best friends."

* * *

Dean was like a virtuous girl who lost her virginity over the weekend, completely sure the rest of the school could smell the difference on him and were whispering behind his back just waiting for the minute to strike and call him a whore.

He heard whispers. Lucifer getting kicked out of the house for going to the party. Michael broke Lucifer's arm. Later in the day, a rumor was going around that Lucifer attempted to rape a freshman boy and that was why he was kicked out. Dean kept quiet and kept his ears open, but with rumors like that, what were he and Castiel? Small fish in a big pond, that's what. They might have gotten their comeuppance some day, but unless Castiel jumped him in chemistry, it seemed very unlikely that it would happen today.

And if it were a one-time thing, it seemed unlikely it would happen at all.

But as Dean walked into chemistry and sat at his back table to wait for his lab partner, he couldn't deny the swarm of butterflies attacking most of the organs near his stomach. His heartbeat was heavy and painful. When Castiel walked in right before the bell sounded with a suit on, Dean knew if he had any choice in it, he and Castiel weren't going to be a one-time thing.

Castiel slid into his usual seat beside Dean with a sigh like he had returned home from a long, stressful day and could finally relax. To Dean's surprise (or perhaps disappointment), Castiel acted completely normal. After sitting with his head down for a minute, he got out his notebook and some highlighters. He didn't look at Dean, much less talk to him.

Dean wondered if Castiel remembered anything about Friday night, but then he remembered that according to the rumors, his brother had been kicked out of the house. Potentially for Doug something with another guy. And while Dean wouldn't have ever looked at Lucifer and thought that he wanted to put it up someone's ass (or take it up there, Dean supposed), it wasn't like he ever thought the same about himself.

Not to mention if that was true and if Castiel wanted to remain living at home, he had to lock himself so deep in the closet that Michael could never find him.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Castiel looked at him with equal parts exhaustion and annoyance, but with a little bit of gratitude sprinkled over the top that must have slipped in accidentally.

"Wanna talk about it?" Dean smirked, sensing the younger boy had regressed back into himself.

Castiel smiled back but turned back to his notebook.

Dean had never really paid a ton of attention to Castiel while in chemistry class. Usually he was trying really hard to understand the lesson. The older boy had never experienced a comfortable silence with someone he made out with before, but as the teacher's monotone added the mood music, Dean was completely content to draw in his own notebook as Castiel turned his into swirls of color.

He wasn't sure how long the lesson had been going on, but when he heard the swish-swish-swish of his lab partner's coloring stop, he turned to look at the other boy. Castiel had his head tilted in that confused sort of way he often did, looking at Dean's notebook. The older boy looked, wondering what Castiel could be looking at.

Suddenly, Castiel's finger pointed to a doodle just under one of the Impala. It was an arm, bent at the elbow as if waving. He hadn't remembered doing it, but Dean had written his own name on the arm.

It was Castiel.

He pulled the notebook back and slammed it shut, frowning at the younger boy for peeking.

Castiel gave another small smile, this time bordering on shy. He started shrugging out of his suit jacket. When his fingers started working on the cuff of the white dress shirt, Dean swallowed a little louder than he meant to. Instead of rolling the sleeve up in a meticulous way, Castiel pushed it up to his elbow, extending it toward the older boy.

It was faded – the result of dancing and sweating and sleeping and showering – but the four letters that spelled out Dean's name were still marking the younger boy's arm. He could have easily washed it off. After all, Dean hadn't seen any other tags marking other underclassmen, but Castiel made an effort to keep the mark there.

Dean looked around to make sure nobody was looking before he placed a hand over his name on Castiel's forearm. The touch only lasted a few seconds before Dean pulled his hand back, and Castiel was rolling down his sleeve again.

Even so, it took Dean a few minutes longer to lean over to the younger boy and whisper, "I have to work until eight tonight. You want to come over and hang out after that?"

Castiel looked at him for a moment, like he was trying to decide. Around the time Dean's heart jumped to his throat and he was sure he was going to get turned down, Castiel's blue eyes lit up and he nodded.

Dean tried to hide his own relieved smile by attempting to pay attention to the teacher. Key word there was "attempting."

* * *

Dean was all but cursing at Bobby for keeping him there the extra ten minutes after his shift ended to clean the shop. The boy argued that it could be done tomorrow, the day after, only barely able to keep from gritting his teeth and sneering _any time but right now._

Bobby narrowed his eyes and asked, "You got somewhere special to be?"

And being ten minutes late was better than admitting the truth: he had a boy coming over who, if he played his cards right, could end up being more than a friend. So Dean just scowled and cursed him silently as he put the tools back and swept up the shop.

In fact, Bobby was so aware that Dean wanted out as quickly as possible that he offered him a beer when he was done, just to watch him squirm. Bobby was shocked to see that whatever Dean had to do was more important than his budding alcoholism. It must have to do with Sam, then. And Bobby sort of felt badly about keeping him in the first place.

Bobby's shop was only a block away from his house, but Dean needed to keep himself from running. He didn't want to look desperate.

He did, however, take the steps to his porch two at a time. He opened the door as casually as he could – trying not to look too eager – but pushed the door handle into Sam's stomach. The younger Winchester put his hands over his stomach in pain, but remained standing. That is, until Dean gripped his arm and led him to the couch, depositing his brother unceremoniously there.

"What the hell, Sammy?"

"I heard someone on the porch and thought it was Castiel. Just trying to be hospitable and let him in," Sam wheezed through pained breaths. "I think you knocked the wind out of me."

"So Cas isn't here?"

Sam shook his head and adjusted how he was sitting so he wasn't putting pressure on his diaphragm. He leaned back, resting his head on the back of the couch as he placed his hand gingerly over his stomach. "Sorry."

It wasn't Sam's fault – that Dean knew of course – but it didn't make him feel better so he stomped upstairs. Making a pit-stop in the bathroom, he scrubbed his hands in hot water until they turned red, but it didn't get all the grease out – it never did on the first time around. He shook his hands over the sink and pulled his shirt off on his way to his room. He flipped the switch to turn the light on and after drying his hands, he threw his work shirt over a chair to dry.

Dean thought he heard a soft click as he opened up his dresser drawer. He only had three shirts clean before he'd have either do the wash or start recycling his shirts. Maybe he could con Sam into doing the laundry.

He pulled out a shirt and looked at it. It was a Metallica _And Justice For All_ shirt that used to be black but was faded to a dark gray from too much washing. There was a hole in the shoulder from some trauma Dean couldn't remember. The shirt, like its owner, had seen better days.

He heard a soft click again; this time it sounded like it was coming from behind him. He dropped the shirt and opted to pick up the baseball bat leaning against his dresser. He climbed onto his bed, and with the bat, he pulled the curtain back.

Castiel had his arm back, about to throw another pebble, even though he was standing on the porch's roof and could just reach up and knock. When he saw Dean, he dropped the rocks and waved. Dean dropped the bat and opened the window.

"What are you doing out there?"

"Wasn't sure if your dad was home. I called at you when you came up the steps," Castiel whispered loudly.

"He's gone," Dean said, looking back into his room. "Want me to come out and give you a boost or do you think you could jump to the window and I could pull you in?"

Castiel reached up to see how far he'd have to jump. Dean was only three or four inches taller than him, but the younger boy completely lacked the upper body strength to pull himself up. He stepped back to get a running start. If he tried it and couldn't, he'd just climb back down the tree and walk in the front door.

He reached the ledge and tried get his feet set against the wall to climb up. He felt Dean's arm wrap around his bicep and pull him up a few more inches. Once he could prop himself up on his elbows on the ledge, Dean didn't so much as help pull him as drag him in. Castiel rolled onto his back on the bed once he made it in the window and panted heavily at the ceiling.

"We can put a rope ladder or something out there," Dean joked, examining his forearms for scratches from the slivery ledge.

Castiel smiled and took his eyes off the ceiling to peer at the older boy sitting on the bed opposite of him. The younger boy's eyes flicker from Dean's face to his bare torso, before meeting his eyes again with a smirk on his face. Dean thought about making a comment about how he didn't appreciate being objectified, but Castiel propped himself up on his elbows like he was asking for it and licked his lips.

Dean was about to reach down and pull the younger boy to him, but Sam's shout from downstairs broke the moment.

"Dean – Pizza time!"

The older boy slid easily from his bed and threw on the shirt. Castiel looked confused, like he wasn't sure whether or not he should join them, but Dean nudged him with his shoulder, said, "C'mon, Cas," and led the way downstairs.

The box was open on the coffee table in front of the couch, and Sam was already sitting and consuming a piece. Dean was grateful. If Sam had access to his mouth he probably would have said something stupid and embarrassing by now. He did hum loudly – a sound that Castiel took for a greeting because he waved back – before he tried speaking with his mouth full.

"Sammy, just chew," Dean plopped himself down on the love seat perpendicular to the couch and turned the box toward him. He grabbed a slice and took a bite, unaware how hungry he was until the cheese and sauce and pepperoni exploded on his tongue. He closed his eyes while he chewed, really appreciating that first bite, before swallowing and opening his eyes.

Castiel was watching him curiously.

"Cas, dude, dig in."

The younger boy shook his head, settling back against the love seat next to Dean and peering at the TV. The boys couldn't afford cable, so Sam was streaming old episodes of _Heroes_ from Netflix on the Wii their dad bought them for Christmas three years ago.

"You're in for a real treat, Cas. It's the Homecoming episode. It's the second episode with Zachary Quinto as Sylar," Sam offered.

Castiel nodded as if he knew what any of that meant or why it was even remotely important.

"Seriously, Cas. Eat up. Sam and I can't eat a whole large by ourselves."

Castiel shook his head again, and Dean shot him a look as if to really, truly give him permission to eat the pauper's food. Castiel continued to shake his head, as if to say that wasn't the reason at all, "Pepperoni."

"Yeah and sausage."

"And bacon, too," Sam added.

"I don't eat pigs," Castiel stated evenly. It wasn't as if he was annoyed at their insistence; rather, he was just stating a fact.

"You Jewish, Cas?" Dean asked, crust abandoned halfway to his mouth. "I mean, I thought you Novaks were all pro-Jesus. You got a secret thing against your savior?"

Castiel did sigh then, though not entirely annoyed. Sam hit Dean with an elbow and told him to stop being ignorant.

"Can't you just pick it off?" Dean asked, elbowing Sam back.

Castiel shook his head. " _'Do not cook a kid in its mother's milk.'_ "

The Winchesters looked at each other briefly before looking back at Castiel. The elder brother shook his head.

"It means we shouldn't mix meat and dairy. Like, you can't boil the meat of a baby goat in a broth of goat milk. That milk is meant to give the kid life and it would be sacrilegious for us use that milk to cook the child in front of its mother."

Dean started eating the crust again, but more slowly as if he were trying to work out some massive flaw in logic. Castiel remained silent, watching the older boy – he didn't have any sort of judgmental or angry look on his face at the lack of knowledge – in this day and age, biblical knowhow was slim at best.

"In the New Testament, doesn't someone say that all the old dietary laws don't count anymore? Jesus died on the cross so we don't have to follow those anymore?" Sam asked. Dean gaped at him – he expected the religious talk from Castiel – but he and Sam hadn't stepped foot in a church since his mother died. Or at least, he thought.

Castiel nodded. "But it can't hurt, can it?"

"Your brothers don't follow the dietary laws," Sam pushed.

Castiel nodded once more, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, "I find I don't much care for pork, anyway."

Sam returned the smile at the confession. Although the conversation was dropped, Dean immediately hushed his brother with a wild swing of his arm. He missed – he never meant to actually connect – but the younger brother got another slice of pizza and remained silent. He shot a look at Castiel that the older teen took to be one of friendliness or camaraderie, and Castiel wondered when he and Dean's younger brother became friends.

Perhaps it was because Castiel hadn't told Dean that Sam was at the party, which probably meant that Dean didn't know it was Sam that Lucifer tried to kiss. Secrets, after all, do make friends.

"Look, that dude with the watch on is Sylar," Dean pointed out, obviously to Castiel as Sam had already seen it. The cheerleaders talked. The lights went off.

Dean reached for another slice of pizza.

The Winchester brothers chatted throughout scene where the man in black cut through the cheerleader's head – apparently they couldn't stand that bitch, anyway. Castiel found the ticking of the man's watch soothing.

They didn't talk through the rest of the episode. Coming into any show eight episodes in was difficult but this show made no sense from this point in. It didn't really matter. Facing the TV with his back to Dean, Castiel could feel the heat of the other boy's shoulder pushing into his back.

And contrary to Dean's earlier statement, the two Winchesters did consume the entire pizza by themselves.

When the episode got over and the pizza was gone and it was 9 pm already and Sam oh-so politely excused himself with a not-so-subtle wink, Dean found himself wishing he had something to do with his hands. He wished he had the comfort of a beer bottle or a TV show to hide behind. Instead, he rubbed his greasy hands on his pants in a way that screamed nervous virgin, but Castiel didn't seem to mind. The movement did get the younger boy to adjust the way he was sitting on the couch, so he could look at him.

Dean sort of wondered what his friend was thinking about as he looked at him because to Dean it felt like the dude was raping his soul. He could stare with such intensity – his eyes so insanely impossibly blue that it made his pupils pop in contrast. The part where the white met the blue was ringed with a thin layer of black too, as if his eyes were made of water and needed a levee to contain the color, or else it would spill, deluding the blue with the white.

Castiel smiled, and Dean's heart jumped to his throat, panicked for a moment that the younger boy could read his thoughts. Damn you, Matt Parkman.

Castiel's hand reached out timidly, as if he was unsure of himself. It was one thing to do it drunk and high, but just one Xanax taken this morning wouldn't give him an excuse if he was shot down, and it didn't give them an excuse if he wasn't.

His fingers traced the stubble o Dean's jaw from his ear to his chin. Castiel turned completely around, sitting cross-legged on the loveseat before the older boy. His hand turned over, and he ran his fingers over the stubble again, this time with his knuckles.

Dean enjoyed it well enough – he couldn't completely keep himself from nuzzling into Castiel's hand – but what he liked most about it was the fascination on the younger boy's face. His pupils weren't blown wide in lust; rather, he looked at Dean with the same mild fascination the boy looked at their lab experiments in chemistry when something's temperature dropped and crystals started to form on the beaker. Exploration of some new, unknown thing.

And Dean was perfectly happy to be Castiel's test subject.

From the stubble, Castiel moved his way to Dean's hair. Completely meticulous in the way he needed to touch every inch of his scalp, pausing over a scar. He rubbed it a few times, as if trying to decipher an abnormality. The older boy bowed his head, and Castiel parted his hair to look at the raised flesh.

After a few moments, Castiel guided Dean's head back to a normal position, looking up at him.

Castiel's fingers traced over the stubble again, this time pausing at the chin. He guided Dean's head up, so he was looking at the ceiling. Against his instincts, the older boy bared his neck – submitting if this had been the animal kingdom. Dean closed his eyes when he felt the fingertips dance over his throat. They left for a moment before Castiel placed one finger lightly over Dean's pulse. The pressure made his artery throb; the younger boy would be able to feel the thick (and rapidly increasing) beating of his heart.

When Castiel's fingers went to his collarbones, Dean looked down again. Castiel abandoned his worship (fucking _worship_ was the only word that came close to what the younger boy was doing) to meet his friend's eyes. His hands rubbed over Dean's cotton-clad shoulders. Castiel didn't say anything, but the gesture made Dean think he was asking permission. The shirt was in the way of his adoration of Dean's body.

Dean swallowed hard, barely managing to contain himself from ripping the shirt off. Still, that small bit of doubt inside him caused him to hesitate. Surprisingly, the way Castiel studied his body didn't make him feel awkward at all – it felt so completely natural it almost scared the older boy – but it was still something Dean wasn't accustomed to. He was poor. He was rough kid who had to work for everything he got. No, he had to fight for everything he got. Someday, he imagined another trashy member of society falling for him – a cute blond thing who barely made it through high school – and they'd get married and have kids (though doubtfully in that order), and they'd live out their lives only a step higher up the social class rungs than he was at now. And Dean had always been fine knowing someone may settle for him one day. They'd be happy enough playing house, but in the end, they'd die miserable like everyone else.

Nobody looked at Dean the way Castiel was looking at him; no one ever took an interest in him as a specimen worthy of such study. Dean wondered if anyone really looked at anyone like that, with such careful consideration. As if they needed to know every inch of a person before they could decide anything about them. Like a refusal to judge, unless all the facts were in. And slowly, inch after inch was brought on trial before the jury and nothing turned up that could sentence him unworthy.

Worship.

Suddenly embarrassed, Dean looked down. Castiel didn't let him get far out of his watchful eye. One hand was back at his chin, guiding him back to eye contact. His head tilted to the side as if some new variable had presented itself that he hadn't counted on. A change of emotion: modesty. Castiel's knuckles dragged against Dean's stubble again, and Dean hadn't even realized that it was comforting before now – nobody else had ever found it as a soft spot. His friend was finding out his tells before Dean himself knew them.

Castiel gave a small smile before he adjusted the way he was sitting. The younger boy was on his knees, hovering over Dean. His hands slid forward until his elbows came to rest on the older boy's shoulders, and he leaned his body forward, straddling his friend's lap. Dean leaned back against the loveseat (there was nowhere else to go after all), and brought his hands to Castiel's hips.

Dean's breathing grew heavier just being this close to Castiel, but the younger boy barely seemed to be breathing at all. He was even, set, a scientist. He held Dean's gaze for a few moments, feeling Dean's breath on his lips, before Castiel's tongue darted out to lick his own lips.

Dean followed suit, knowing – or at least hoping with every fiber of his being – what would come next. As if to encourage him, Dean pushed his fingers into Castiel's hips, pulling him toward him even more.

It did the trick. Castiel broke the remaining gap in his personal space and pressed their lips together.

It was slow and tentative, nothing like what happened with their kisses on Friday night. Castiel's hands fisted in Dean's hair, and Dean's hands slid from Castiel's hips and worked their way up his back, pulling the younger boy closer to him. Castiel's body stayed glued to Dean, but he moved his head back, opening his eyes to look at his friend.

Dean couldn't be sure what Castiel saw in him, but he pushed in again, his lips closed around Dean's bottom lip, so it must have been something good. The older boy couldn't be sure whose tongue darted out first, but suddenly Castiel took a sharp breath in and his hands abandoned Dean's hair. One hand attached itself to the back of Dean's neck – as if he needed to keep him there – and the other dropped, on instinct, to the boy's cheek.

Dean's fingers returned to the younger boy's hips, working on their own to try and pull the younger boy down and force some contact.

When the kiss had switched from something pure and romantic to something so lustful was beyond Dean. Castiel lowered himself to his friend's lap, losing his leverage but keeping the control by looping an arm around Dean's neck, pulling him forward as Castiel leaned back.

Dean felt a hand push his t-shirt up and run over the muscles in his stomach.

Castiel was all but pulling Dean down on top of him, lips leaving Dean's to settle on his neck. The older boy groaned – both at the loss of the kiss and the gaining of the worship of his neck – and hooked his arm around his friend's waist, aiming at laying them down on the couch, but he suddenly froze. Castiel tugged at Dean's shirt.

"Cas, wait," Dean breathed, surprising himself by the outburst.

Castiel hummed into Dean's neck – he was listening – but he wasn't stopping.

"Um," Dean tried again, but Castiel abandoned his expedition to Dean's neck in favor of gripping his own t-shirt behind his head at his shoulder blades, pulling it up and over his head in one quick movement. The younger boy put his hand over the back of Dean's neck to pull the older boy to him again; at the same time, he rocked his hips forward.

Dean ducked his head to his friend's shoulder, ignoring the kiss to place one on the bare skin before him. He heard Castiel smirk above him.

"Jesus Christ, Cas."

"Do not take the Lord's name in vain, Dean," the younger boy breathed, though he didn't stop the rocking of his hips from above the older boy and punished him by pulling him into another kiss.

Dean couldn't control his hands wandering up and down the sides of the boy in front of him, over his chest, feeling the bare skin. The younger boy seemed to push with his mouth and pull with his hands that gave him complete control over Dean. The older boy hadn't remembered this about him Friday night.

Dean rested his forearms on Castiel's shoulders and pulled his head back. When Castiel tried to kiss him again, Dean held him an elbow's length away. Realizing he couldn't get any closer, the younger boy opened his eyes. Scientist abandoned, Castiel's pupils were blown wide with lust. His hair was a mess, even though Dean didn't really remember having his hands there, and his face was tinged pink.

"Dean," the younger boy whined.

"Wait, Cas. Quit rushin' a sec."

Castiel stopped pushing, logic sparking in his brain at the sound of Dean's good-ole-boy accent coming through. Suddenly interested, the younger boy removed his hands from the older boy's chest and lifted them to rub over Dean's biceps where he still held him arms length away.

Dean didn't excel at talking about his emotions on a good day. Pair that with his best friend half naked on his lap, all but itching to jump him, and Dean was about to let lust give in and fuck the consequences (literally?). But Castiel pushed the sleeve of Dean's t-shirt up to his arm pit. The study was back in the younger boy's eyes as he traced his fingers over Dean's bicep.

The older boy gave an inch when, after another few seconds of touching, Castiel leaned in to kiss the muscle. It wasn't the first time someone had done it – girls, thinking guys dug when they thought girls dug their muscles, kissed them frequently – but there was something different in the way the his friend did it. It was suddenly like Dean wasn't a piece of ass (perhaps literally, Dean hadn't really thought about what Castiel wanted), but that he mattered again.

"Cas, this is new to me," Dean found himself admitting before he could stop himself.

Somehow, the younger boy had settled Dean's arm around his shoulders as easily as if he had thrown a blanket over himself. He leaned Dean back once more, fitting easily against the older boy; Castiel looked smaller when he was cuddled to Dean's chest.

"I have never kissed anyone before Friday," Castiel admitted truthfully. Sure, he'd done more with Crowley, but the British teen had never let him kiss him on the mouth.

"Shit," Dean sighed, his other hand coming up to rest around the younger boy. "Sorry your first kiss was a drunken-high frenzy – with me no less."

"I'm not."

Castiel's hand was under Dean's shirt again, fingers tracing circles on his stomach. It was as comforting as the boy rubbing his chin. Dean kissed the top of Castiel's head.

They didn't ask the important questions. What is this? Do you love me? But those questions didn't seem to matter anyway.

What mattered to Dean was that he would have stuck it in any girl. The fact he showed restraint may have been annoying and frustrating on the surface, but somewhere it showed him that this meant more than a fuck. It meant something to him. _Castiel_ meant something to him. Dean couldn't say that about anyone else he'd ever met before, and he would deny the feelings to his grave, but he clung a little tighter to Castiel anyway.

Later, when Castiel was asked what he thought in that moment, he would claim he didn't remember the specifics. He rarely could recall exact events what with the drugs. The one thing he did remember, though, was that he wasn't thinking about his next high. He wasn't thinking about the Xanax and Adderall in his pocket. He wasn't thinking about the morphine in his bag at home. It should have been a striking moment of clarity that he didn't need the drugs to be happy. He just needed Dean.

Of course, hindsight is 20/20.

They remained cuddled together on the couch until Dean was afraid he would fall asleep. He didn't really want Sam to catch him for a second time in twice as many days. When he took a deep breath, the younger boy took the hint and sat up.

"Your brothers will wonder where you are," Dean offered, not wanting to sound like he was kicking Castiel out. The younger boy didn't let it show if he took it that way. He just threw his t-shirt back on.

Dean stood, wrapping his arm around the younger boy's waist and kissing him once again. "I'll walk you home."

"I'm seventeen," Castiel smiled. "I can manage."

Dean kissed the top of his friend's head, pulling him into a hug, "Halfway home?"

Castiel placed a soft kiss on Dean's neck, humming his approval of that plan.

* * *

By Friday, everyone had returned to some semblance of a normal routine.

Sam would hang out with Gabriel and Balthazar at the Novaks' house after school. Around seven, he and Castiel would walk to the Winchesters' house to cook something for dinner for when Dean got out of work at 8. After dinner, Sam would go to his room, Dean and Castiel would hang out (code, Sam knew, for making out) for an hour or so before Dean would walk Castiel halfway home.

Balthazar, for fearing and loathing Lucifer since the punch, seemed to be empathetic since the bruise healed on his stomach. Once Sam would leave with Castiel, he would murmur his grievances with an uncharacteristically quiet Gabriel. When he finally grew tired of complaining for the night, he would lay on his bed, neglecting his homework in favor of texting Bela. Gabriel remained quiet and distant, even when Sam was around.

Michael would wake his brothers early for prayer before school. During school, he started getting together a youth group of younger kids who became his wayward flock, unaware of the dissension with his younger brothers. After school, with Sam and the flock, they would pray again. The older twin gave the kids who showed up black leather bracelets to honor their commitment to the Lord. Castiel didn't wear his, but Sam hadn't taken it off. After dinner, Michael would sit alone in his and Lucifer's bedroom, looking across at his brother's things. He would pray for hours, begging their Father to tell him what he was supposed to do.

By Friday, Lucifer, his bitches, and Crowley had finished cleaning the old church behind the school. Actually, Lucifer and his bitches cleaned the place. Crowley stopped by from time to time to see how his figurehead was holding up. Surprisingly, after their meeting in the bathroom, the depression was replaced by mania. The thought of the other boy having bipolar disorder frightened Crowley – the last thing he needed was an unstable leader – but until he fell again, Crowley wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

On Friday, when Crowley showed up after last period, Lucifer, Ruby, and Lilith were already there. The three seniors had a study hall last period and could leave school early.

The side door was open and the British teen entered to strong paint fumes. The downstairs office had been renovated first; Crowley spent the money to get Lucifer a cheap mattress which they threw on the floor after it was cleaned and painted. The crew had been working on the kitchen and open dining hall.

They disassembled the tables when they could and axed it when they couldn't. The metal was abandoned in the giant dumpster behind the school. They put the wood in the wide open catacombs in the basement next to Lucifer's bedroom.

Lilith had swept and mopped while Ruby painted the walls white. When Crowley showed up, the floors in both rooms were completely clean and mopped and both girls had a paintbrush in their hand. Lucifer had a paintbrush sitting over the gallon of white paint, but the boy himself was sitting on the one square table they hadn't destroyed, biting into an apple.

The girls didn't notice the British teen's entrance, but Lucifer turned to acknowledge him.

"Well don't you lot clean up nicely," Crowley joked. Lucifer's girls had always responded poorly to Crowley. They, unlike their boss, had fully understood that the other boy was a threat and frequently insulted him to keep him in his place. Since this joint venture, he had gotten nothing but complements.

The girls turned to him, full of smiles, and in creepy but strangely sexy unison replied, "Thank you, Mister Crowley."

Lucifer couldn't suppress the snort, so he bit into his apple to try and hide it.

The bitches were loveable wenches, once you got to know them.

The girls went back to painting, so Crowley went to Lucifer. The blond boy kept his blue eyes on the other teen as he approached, and Crowley had to admit that when Lucifer was on, he was on. He wondered about why Anna Novak named her set of twins for the brothers who waged the biggest war Heaven had ever seen. Maybe it was after a hard pregnancy – the boys feuding inside her – and after their birth the names were obvious. What came first, the name or the attitude?

Crowley had to admit that when he wanted to, Lucifer could play the villain sincerely.

But maybe he really wasn't playing anything.

The thought sent chills down Crowley's spine. And Lucifer just kept watching him. For a moment, Crowley wondered if he could see right through him because Lucifer didn't ask the other boy why he shivered.

"Base is almost done. What is phase two of Operation Apocalypse?" Lucifer joked lightly.

"Money," Crowley answered. "Despite the common misconception, my parents don't just give me buckets of the stuff. Especially not to fund an empire. I've found that selling drugs is a pretty quick and effective way of making money."

"Cocaine is a multi-million dollar industry," Ruby offered.

"Cocaine is expensive, too. Our clientele will predominately be high school students. But we need a bit of a following first. I have a dealer who would be more than happy to up the supply if we can up the demand," Crowley leaned back against the table. He heard Lucifer take another bite of the apple. "Though typically, if you've got it, they'll come."

"So we need to get runners to stand in parks to sell," Lucifer said. "Get the word out in school. What do you have now? We could run a beta test with a smaller sample so we know what to get for the next shipment."

Crowley hummed for a second, impressed. "Some heroin, some pot. A handful of Percs. Look, though, you gotta be really careful with the drugs though. We cannot use them. We use them, we get addicted to them, and suddenly we're smoking our profits. Make sure the runners are paid well enough to where they won't just use the drugs, either. Last thing we need is a tweaking twelve year old who can't pay back the debt."

Lucifer and his bitches agreed.

"Get the word out over the weekend that we have product we're willing to sell," Lucifer said. "We'll worry about runners after we've expanded."

It was easier for Crowley to say than he would ever admit when he responded, "Anything you say, boss."

* * *

Dean liked having Castiel around after he got out of work. Sam said he was more harmful in the kitchen than he was helpful, but who wasn't until they got the hang of it? He was learning pretty fast under the younger Winchester's guidance.

Though one thing Dean couldn't ignore was how quickly the three of them blew though the forty dollars John left. Castiel didn't eat much, but even with the little bit he did eat, it messed their finances up significantly.

Though, Dean was sure it was because Sam was in charge of the food and so he was making bigger proportions for himself and his brother, too. He hadn't gone hungry in over a week.

When he cashed his paycheck after school on Friday – his one consistent day off every week – he put $100 in an envelope with his name on it in an empty coffee can. There was an envelope with Sam's name on it, too, but it only had sixty dollars left from the younger Winchester's summer job.

Dean's was empty but the recently added Benjamin.

The three of them sat watching _Heroes_ on Netflix for a few hours. Once Sam and Dean started to explain it more, it made more sense to Castiel. Though Castiel was starting to like the show, he wondered if this was the big plan for the night.

It was better than being alone in his room, but he sort of thought the Winchesters were more exciting than that.

Around eight, Sam started to ask Dean how much longer. At 8:30 the older boy relented, and they started putting their shoes on. Knowing Castiel wouldn't ask, Dean explained without needing the prompt.

"If we have to, we can get by with $100 a week. We've gotten pretty good at hustling at the bar a few blocks away. Usually we can score another hundred."

"We had a bunch saved over the summer, but Dean bought a part for his car without realizing we'd been spending my money on food all summer," Sam continued, running down the stairs with his shoes on. He had a light tone in his voice, though. Like it didn't really matter that they were broke again. They'd survive; they always have.

Castiel nodded, excusing himself to the bathroom.

As long as he had a steady high of Xanax, Castiel had found that day-to-day life was bearable. For a week, the teenager had only used his favorite drug. He hadn't gone a week without mixing and matching drugs for months, but he enjoyed the company of the Winchesters. The two boys dulled the voices in his head begging for escape and release and entertainment.

He was comfortable with the Winchesters.

He was not comfortable in a crowded, loud, dank bar, full of strangers. Not that he had ever been to one before, but at the mere mention of being in such a public place sober (except for the Xanax, but did that really even count anymore?) had Castiel's heart racing. When he latched the door behind him and walked to the mirror, his hands were shaking with anxiety.

Castiel wasn't thinking that maybe he was just ignoring all other signs of withdrawal until this moment. When he dug his hands into his pocket, he didn't take out a Xanax – a drug proscribed to help with his social anxiety. Instead, somewhere in his mind made him reach for the amphetamines.

Although he hadn't taken any drugs (other than Xanax) in the past week, it didn't mean he wasn't thinking about it. He spent his time alone crushing up Adderall into fine powder. Now was just as good of a time to try it as any other. Although his hands were shaking off the Richter scale, he managed to pull a baggy of powder from his pocket, open it, and take out the small straw he had cut up just for an occasion. He didn't put the material on the sink, just kept it in the bag and lined the straw up to his nostril, pushed the other one closed, and took a sharp inhale of breath.

It stung as the foreign material rushed up the cavity, but it didn't burn as bad as he thought it would.

He switched the straw into his other hand, plugged his other nostril, and inhaled again.

He didn't realize he had shut his eyes until they opened to examine whether or not he had gotten the powder everywhere. He hadn't. Putting the straw back in the bag, he zipped it and put it in his pocket. He tipped his head back, inhaling sharply once more. He ran his thumb and pointer finger over his nose, making sure nothing was there.

Castiel put his hands on the sink, leaning toward the mirror.

He knew better than to blow his nose, but he felt like he was going to cough or sneeze. Determined, he held it in. Castiel counted the seconds: ten, then thirty, then sixty. Then he heard Dean yell up to him. The drug was dripping down his throat, but it actually tasted kind of sweet. Ninety seconds and he heard the boy climb up the stairs. One hundred and twenty and he was knocking on the door.

They were out of the bathroom and out of the house in 210 seconds. There was a dripping in his brain. It felt like his arm had gone to sleep, except it wasn't his arm, it was the top of his head. Tingly. It spread over the organ, but Castiel kept counting.

Four minutes and seven seconds in, as he was walking down the street with the Winchesters, Castiel felt like a character from _In Time_ who had timed out. His chest felt like it surged forward, and he stumbled. Dean's hand wrapped around Castiel's arm, holding him upright. They stopped walking as Castiel regained his footing.

"Dude, you okay?" Dean asked, concern dripping in his voice like the amphetamine dripping down his friends' throat.

Castiel could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Although he had taken more at the party last week, snorting the drug was entirely new. It was pleasant. It felt like his heart was beating for the first time.

A grin spread wide over Castiel's face. "Perfect." He removed himself from Dean, aware that the two of them had some unspoken agreement against physical displays of affection, especially around Sam. "Euphoric, even," he admitted.

"Well, the Roadhouse is just a dive filled with alcoholic, old rednecks so don't get too excited," Dean replied evenly.

They were there before Castiel could respond.

Dean held the door open, and Sam led the way in. Sam walked them toward the bar, but they only got three steps in before the lady behind the counter slammed a glass down, pointed at the door and said, "Winchesters, out!"

Castiel froze, assuming that because he was with the Winchesters, it meant him to, but Dean put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him forward. Sam ignored the woman as well, opting to take a seat at the side of the bar closest to the dartboard.

Dean sat down two seats away, and Castiel thought it was sort of sweet that the brothers would part so he wouldn't have to sit by a stranger. He gladly took the spot reserved for him.

The woman was serving a drink to a customer who looked like a biker and didn't mention the minors at the bar. Castiel was nervous – though admittedly, less nervous than high at this point, which meant the drugs were a success – so he looked around. The bar was in a typical shape for a bar, closed off on all sides from patrons. The woman was the only one behind the counter, but beyond her and beyond the bar was a pool table. Two middle aged men were currently playing.

Dean, Castiel, and Sam were sitting close to the door, and their three seats were the only three seats on the short side of the bar. Most of the other patrons were farther down. There were fifteen, maybe twenty people in the space.

In one corner there was a juke box – Castiel didn't even know those still existed in modern establishments – and an old piano that didn't really look like it had been touched in years.

"I thought I told you boys to get lost," the bartender was suddenly in front of them.

"Hi, Ellen," Sam smiled.

"Yeah, it'll just be a beer for me and Sam. Cas here doesn't much care for that, though, so how about a rum and coke for him," Dean grinned, elbows pressed against the bar, leaning forward. Castiel was surprised. Sam had told him on one of their walks to the Winchesters' home that Dean had a strong aversion to Sam consuming alcohol. He was afraid Sam would end up like their dad (or Dean).

"Certainly," Ellen replied, with a fake smile on her face. "As soon as you three show me some ID."

"Aw, Ellen. Wouldn't you know, I left it at home," Dean patted his pocket. "Just put it on our daddy's tab."

"Three Root Beers," Ellen grinned. "Coming right up."

As Dean protested loudly at the lack of hospitable service, Sam told Castiel that their dad liked to drink here a lot when they were younger. John had been a friend of Ellen's husband until he was accidently shot and killed in a hunting accident some years ago. They'd been half raised in the bar. Sam's voice dropped to hardly above a whisper as he admitted that he couldn't remember his own mother – that Ellen was the closest thing he ever had to one.

"Don't tell Dean," Sam whispered, looking at Castiel with giant, puppy dog eyes. "He remembers mom and it would break his heart."

Three Root Beers in glass bottles were placed in front of them. When Castiel looked up to thank Ellen, he was surprised. The woman was replaced by a girl, maybe a year older than Sam. She smiled at the boys, until she recognized Castiel and pointed an accusing finger at Dean.

"What are you doing bringing a good ole Novak to a bar like this, Dean Winchester?"

"Well, howdy, Jo," Dean grinned. "That's a strange pick up line."

The young girl scowled at him, before greeting Sam and Castiel politely. The younger Winchester started discussing a girl at school that Castiel didn't know, so he looked at Dean. The oldest boy had his Root Beer raised to his lips, drinking large gulps of it. Feeling eyes on him, his eyes met Castiel's without turning his head. He winked before putting the bottle down.

Judging by how light it seemed when he put it down, it was at least halfway, if not three-quarters, of the way.

"So, Jo, spot any targets?"

The blonde girl's face grew serious for a moment, leaning her side up against the bar, blocking the rest of the patrons from her view.

"Old guy playing pool has been hustling for the past couple of hours. He's getting kind of deep in it. He was winning at first, but his wins are getting harder. I think he'll be dumb enough to take you. Cowboy at your eleven o'clock has been betting on darts the past couple of nights, but he hasn't yet tonight." Her eyes slid away from Dean to Castiel, as if she still couldn't really figure out why Dean brought him. "What's your talent?"

"Talent?" Castiel asked, peering at Dean for help.

"He sure plays a mean pinball," Dean grinned, patting Castiel on the shoulder. The last pat lingered there longer than he meant it to before he dropped it. Castiel didn't get the reference, but he only really did half the time Dean said anything anyway and he quickly learned not to bother asking.

Jo apparently got it because her eyes fell on Castiel with a smile on her face.

"Now," Dean leaned forward, holding his bottle out to her. Jo took it, confused there was still some Root Beer in it. "Hows about when your mom ain't looking, you put something in there for me. Rum or Whiskey…"

"Or Everclear," Sam joked. Castiel guessed that this was a normal routine for the brothers as well. He surmised that Dean was flirting with Jo, the way he leaned toward her when he spoke and the way she responded verbally in the negative, but her body language screamed positives.

She had a crush on his boyfriend. Castiel felt a little twinge of jealousy stab at his insides, before he realized he had thought of Dean as his boyfriend when no such verbal agreement had been established. Huh.

"C'mon, Jo. I'll give you a kiss if you give me some alcohol," Dean practically said in sing-song.

Castiel's fingers clenched around the neck of his bottle. It went unnoticed by the flirting pair, but apparently not by the younger Winchester. Sam was facing Castiel, and gave a warning, "Dean," as if being chastised would stop him.

"I would never kiss you. I turn you down every week, so quit asking," Jo snipped, but she was leaning forward, too close. Castiel tipped the bottle back a little bit, reading the ingredients in the soda.

"Alright," Dean said, nudging Castiel with his arm. "What about him? You kiss him, I get alcohol. It's win-win for everyone, right?"

He still had two more amphetamines in his pocket. He shot Dean a look he couldn't completely control, but Dean recognized it as the same annoyed look he gave at the party before he slipped Dean the drugs. Sam was whining behind him. The older Winchester hadn't met to upset the guy. It was mostly a joke. That, and he kind of wanted to see if either one would do it. That didn't seem likely, though, so he just felt like a jerk.

Dean was screaming his apology in his head, but was too proud to say it aloud. He wasn't sure how long he spent trying to send the telepathic message, but his concentration broke when Jo laughed. All three boys turned to her, and suddenly, she was the one grinning at them.

"Alrighty, Dean. How about _you_ kiss him? Then I'll fill your bottle with alcohol and you can drink yourself stupid and broke. How about that?"

Dean wasn't sure what, exactly, she meant by that. Were rumors actually flying around the school and Jo was just testing to see if it was true? Or did she say that thinking he would never do it? He looked her over, trying to catch her motive before he gave his cards away. Jo had the best poker face in the bar.

Castiel's eyes were wide in surprise, and his pupils were blown huge. Damn, Dean thought. Dude could get in the mood at the very idea of kissing in public. It was his misread of Castiel's eyes that got him to grin back at Jo, and Dean said, "Well, go fill'er up then." He gripped a hand around the back of Castiel's neck and pulled him in.

It was just a peck, and Castiel was trying to squirm his way back and out of it, but Dean pulled him in again with a small, frustrated growl. When their lips met for the second time, Dean made a show of slipping tongue into the younger boy's mouth. Castiel kissed him back, but also pulled away again after Dean had proven his point.

Castiel returned to his drink, but Dean couldn't help but smile stupidly at the boy before him. When he finally sobered up and looked at Jo, she didn't look like Dean thought she would. She wasn't disgusted or complaining about her eyes burning or sin or anything like that. She was smiling. She was fucking smiling like she just saw a puppy poop a rainbow and vomit glitter.

Dean wasn't sure if he was more relieved or annoyed, so he decided to do what he always did: not address his feelings at all and hide behind his ever present sarcasm and wit.

"Don't let your mom catch you filling that for me. Don't want you to get arrested for serving a minor."

Jo only pretended to act mad as she walked into the back room with Dean's somewhat empty Root Beer bottle.

For his part, Sam didn't look mortified at the display. And for _his_ part, Castiel only looked mildly annoyed that he was used for alcohol. For the rest of the patrons of the bar, they were either very good actors or had missed Dean's display of affection because the three of them were essentially in their own world in the corner of the bar.

He did feel a bit guilty about using Castiel though. When Jo returned and silently put the drink on the bar, Dean took a sip and found it so strong it was almost revolting. Almost. Putting his hand on his friend's back, he asked, "Do you know how to play pool?"

Castiel shook his head.

"Well, come on then, we'll teach you."

Teaching, Castiel learned rather quickly, was a Winchester euphemism for _using_. The old men had abandoned the pool table, and Dean fed three quarters into the machine while Sam taught Castiel how to set the balls in the rack.

Castiel found it surprising that Sam was his coach. Coaching someone in pool was surprisingly physical. Sam was continuously readjusting Castiel's hand or his grip or getting on his tippy-toes behind him to look over his shoulder to see the potential trajectory. For his part, Dean drank sip by rough sip and sucked.

Castiel was new to this. He wasn't surprised when he sank one ball in every three tries.

Dean sank one in every five. Every other time, he accidently sank one Castiel's balls by accident. He would swear, grumble, and declare he was better, just having an off night. Sam, after the game ended with Castiel winning by a long shot, told him that perhaps he would be better if he didn't drink so much. Dean grumbled and leaned against the wall as Sam showed off for Castiel, sinking every one of Dean's remaining balls in one try.

One of the old guys approached them. Castiel hadn't noticed they were being watched, and when the man asked if they'd like to bet money on a game, Dean was stepping up, willing to accept the challenge. The man seemed surprised, but they bet fifty dollars on the game. That was half of the money they came there to hustle with.

Sam and Castiel sat at the bar, drinking their Root Beer, watching the slaughter before them. The other man broke and became striped. He missed the next shot and sent the cue ball into the pocket. Dean sat the cue ball where he wanted it and sank five balls in a row. He missed on his sixth attempt, but only by a small miscalculation. Genuinely pissed, he retired to his bottle.

Soon enough it was Dean's turn again, and he sank the remaining solid balls, then called what pocket the 8-ball was going to go into. Sam told Castiel he was showing off – there were easier ways to sink the 8-ball – but he put it in the pocket he called nonetheless.

Suddenly, the Winchesters were fifty dollars richer. The man was so pissed about being hustled, he left the bar.

Then they were on to darts.

This time, Castiel played against Sam as Dean helped to instruct him. Dean stood facing the right with his right foot forward. He mimicked how to throw, how it seemed mostly in the forward momentum of the arm as it bent at the elbow, and he threw one for Castiel. Sam seemed annoyed that he started Castiel off with a bull's eye, but Dean just grinned.

The stance was awkward for Castiel, but he managed to hit the target on his other two shots.

Sam stood nothing like how Dean showed him. He put his left foot forward and threw as if he were throwing a baseball. They went fast and stuck hard, but he seemed to miss the actual scoring part of the dartboard as frequently as he hit some low number.

Dean kept instructing Castiel to aim for the bull's eye, until his score dropped from 301 to 40.

"Try to hit either the big twenty spot twice or the little section above the twenty," Dean suggested, but Castiel couldn't aim that well and ended up with two fives and a one.

Sam continued to chuck the darts at the board. Though, he did start to slowly catch up as Castiel needed to hit the 8, but kept busting with every dart he threw. He was getting frustrated when eventually Heaven answered his prayers. He raised his hands in shocked victory, and Sam smiled at him. Dean, sort of drunk at that point, wrapped his arms around his waist and lifted him up, shouting, "All Hail the Victor."

Soon enough, they were propositioned for another bet and when Sam took it, Castiel was sure the younger boy let him win before the game started. He was surprised when, six darts in, Sam didn't really seem to have improved the way Dean had at pool.

Sam's opponent thought it was funny and he started teasing the younger boy.

Nobody teased Sam without Dean stepping up. The older boy had abandoned the empty bottle of Root Beer and something on the bar, but he wasn't looking for a refill. Castiel really couldn't believe that Dean was going to let Sam be tortured. He was about to step up himself, when the guy asked Sam if he was gay – insinuating that gay people threw poorly – which Castiel took personal offence too.

Apparently, it struck a raw nerve with Sam (probably, Castiel thought, because his brother appeared to be into guys at least a little), because he turned to face the man with tears in his eyes. He was shaking with fury.

"You know what, dude. Fine. Whatever. If you want my money, take it." Sam dug in his pockets. "Let's up the bet. Double or nothing says I can win with three more darts."

"You're at 180," the dude said, shocked. "You'd have to hit three triple-twenties."

"I'm sick of playing with you," Sam said harshly.

The guy dug out another fifty bucks. Sam asked Dean for the fifty he just won at pool. He gave it to him, but didn't look too pleased. When Sam went back to the dartboard to take his shot, Dean put his arm on the bar, halfway around Castiel without really touching him. It looked platonic, but when the younger boy looked at his friend, the smile on his face told him it wasn't.

Their pseudo-display of affection didn't last long. Sam hit the triple-twenty space in a perfect line. Sam took the angry man's money, and as he walked out the door, Sam shouted out, "Just because a person is is in love with someone of the same sex doesn't mean they can't play darts, you ignorant asshole."

Dean patted Sam's back, as a way of letting him know he thanked him for what he said, but Castiel frowned. That wasn't a _"My brother, who kisses guys, could kick your ass"_ type of threat. Images of Lucifer flashed in his mind. Lucifer loved Sam, and it was never questioned that it was one-sided.

That, to Castiel, seemed very much like a confession.

The night wore on, but neither Winchester had a big score like their firsts of the night. To Castiel's dismay, he started coming down around ten thirty. The brothers were performing trick shots at the pool table, criticizing each other.

Coming down was borderline painful. Everything seemed dull. Castiel was sitting on the piano stool some twenty feet from the brothers, digging his nails into his knees. Although it didn't seem to last long – probably the drug had some slow-release thing when it was still in pill form that got lost when snorted – it was a comfortable high. He wasn't tapping like crazy; he had seemed completely normal. He even had a whole conversation with Jo about his family which was a topic he usually grew anxious simply thinking about.

The Xanax was mostly out of his system. The amphetamines were draining fast, and Castiel needed another hit. He was about to go to the bathroom to take something or everything, he hadn't quite decided yet, when something happened at the pool table that caused Dean to slam his stick down and march over to Castiel.

Sam looked equally pissed when he joined them a second later, knowing that Dean wanted to be alone and knowing that his presence was enough to get under his brother's skin. They were practically growling at each other like two male lions vying for dominance.

Luckily, Castiel had plenty of practice dealing with the likes of dominance feuds. He did have seven brothers, after all.

"Have you ever heard of the song _Bohemian Rhapsody_?"

Both brothers, arms crossed in front of them, broke their stare down to focus on the ridiculous question posed to them. "What?"

" _Bohemian Rhapsody_ by Queen," Castiel repeated. "Do you know it?" Of course they knew it. They didn't even warrant him with a response. "I can't remember how it starts," Castiel lied. He held his head down, looking at his hands. "Could you sing it for me?"

Without the clue as to who he was talking to, the brothers looked at each other. Frustration at each other was slipping away, replaced instead with mild curiosity as to why Castiel need to know the opening of that song right this moment.

Dean shrugged, and Sam softened his bitchface.

" _Is this the real life?"_ Sam sang quietly, but Dean belted from the first note – loud and out of tune. Castiel smiled, finding Dean's lack of singing ability refreshing. All of his brothers could sing; they had been singing as long as they had been talking. To hear the older boy sing poorly, completely without shame, was adorable.

" _Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide…"_ Sam started singing louder, trying to drown out the sound of Dean's abomination to music. Castiel turned around to face the piano. His fingers hovered over the familiar chords. _"No escape from reality_."

When Castiel started playing the beginning riff of the song, the boys grew quieter. Dean completely stopped for a moment. Castiel, fearing the vocals were about to be dropped, sang _"I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy."_

The Winchesters sang again, until the piano part switched to the main riff. Castiel would play the first few notes with his left hand, play some with his right, then cross his left hand over his right to play the higher notes. It is the only way to play the song, but apparently, Dean was highly impressed because instead of singing he put his hand on Castiel's back and yelled, "Sammy, look at that!"

" _Mama, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he's dead,"_ Castiel sang it, and the Winchesters were content to be silent and watch. Dean moved back when the younger boy shrugged his shoulders, trying to get the weight off of him. Sam did sing a couple of supporting lines and "ooh ahhs," which Castiel appreciated.

" _Mama, I don't want to die, I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all…"_

Surprisingly, when the guitar solo came in, he heard Dean mimicking the sound. Despite his singing, his rendition of the solo was very accurate. Then he stopped, and Castiel switched pace for the second wave of the song.

" _I see a little silhouette of a man…"_

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Winchesters throw up their arms as they sang, _"Scaramouch, Scaramouch! Will you do the fandango? Thunder bolts and lightening, very very frightening me."_

They broke up the next part: Dean falsetto'd and Sam sang the lower, _"Galileo."_

Castiel came back in with, _"I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me."_

The Winchesters seemed farther away when they sang, _"He's just a poor boy from a poor family. Spare him his life of this monstrosity!"_ Castiel didn't really have the capacity with playing and singing to wonder what they were doing so far away.

(Though they seemed even farther away from both Castiel, and each other, when they broke up the next section. Dean screamed, _"We will not let him go,"_ and Sam was on Castiel's defense with, _"Let him go!"_ )

He felt the boys closer to him again at the end of that section, when all three of them sang, _"Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me. For me. FOR ME."_

Castiel stood up, pushing the bench away from him to gain some leverage over the piano. Dean was doing the guitar solos again. He felt the bench drag farther from him, around the time he started singing. He had been tentative throughout most of the song, but encouraged by his friends' enthusiasm, he belted the next part.

" _So you think you can stone me and spit in my eyes? So you think you can love me and leave me to die? Oh, baby. Can't do this to me baby. Just gotta get out, just gotta get right out of here."_

At the end of the song, when it started to calm back down, he felt a hand on his back and Dean suddenly came into view. Then another arm wrapped around his shoulders and Sam was on the other side.

" _Nothing really matters… anyone can see. Nothing really matters, nothing really matters, to me."_

Dean's hand slid down Castiel's spine a few inches, and goosebumps jumped to Castiel's arms.

The song ended how it started, with Sam and Dean singing.

" _Anyway the wind blows."_

Castiel let the last note ring on the piano as he looked up at his friend. Dean gave a small smile, before a sudden applause broke out over the bar. It was led by Ellen and Jo, but the bikers and hunters seemed like they had enjoyed it, too. Then Sam started clapping – then Dean – and Castiel realized they were applauding him.

Praise.

Castiel stood up and gave a little wave before trying to hide behind Dean.

They left soon after.

Dean was taking wide steps, leading the younger boys quickly home. His pace was awkward to the shorter boys – somewhere half between walking and jogging – and it was hard to keep up without looking strange. Sam complained, but Dean remained silent and kept up pace.

"I didn't know you played piano, Cas," Sam stated through heavy breaths. "You're good."

The older boy ignored the complement, and Dean started pulling away from them. "We all play an instrument. Our mother insisted on it. Gabriel plays the trumpet – as he is named for the archangel is said to be the one who will herald in the apocalypse – and Uriel and Raphael both play the guitar."

"What does Lucifer play?" The question was out before Sam could really think it through. He looked up at his friend, trying to play it off like mild curiosity. Like he had asked about any other Novak than the one who fell for him.

Castiel gave him a knowing look before a small smile formed on his face. "Guess."

But for the life of him, Sam couldn't think of an obvious instrument, until Castiel gave him another hint: "Well, I'd bet, if it came down to your soul, he would think he was better than you."

The grin on Sam's face was interested, rather than judgmental, which Castiel found refreshing. "No way."

"He's actually pretty good at the violin, too. I don't hear him play much since dad left, though," And Castiel left it at that.

They returned home in minutes. Sam climbed the steps two at a time and slammed the bathroom door. This particular mannerism didn't require an explanation, but Castiel turned to Dean, expecting one.

When he faced the older boy, Dean was already in his personal space. His left hand snaked around Castiel's waist, and his right hand threaded lightly through the hair over his ear. His fingers didn't stop there, but trailed behind his ear, down his neck, until suddenly Dean's thumb crossed over Castiel's cheek and paused at his lips.

Castiel's lips parted, a breath escaping, as his eyes bore into Dean's. The older boy had far more discipline than Castiel. Twice Dean had verbally requested that they not rush this, that they would _regret_ it if they rushed it. After the second time, the younger boy deemed it worth the wait and tried to control himself. Typically, without success. But Dean was always polite as he guided Castiel's hands back to neutral territory.

Castiel wasn't sure how Dean could control himself, and he could remember his eyes blown wide with lust. But looking up at the boy now was like looking like an animal staring down its prey. The younger boy wrapped his arms lazily around Dean's shoulders, interested in the development of their relationship.

Dean's thumb was under Castiel's chin, forcing his head to angle up a few more inches, just enough to be considered submitting. His eyes went from Castiel's lips, to his neck, then finally to his eyes.

Suddenly, Dean pulled their bodies together, in one flush, quick motion. Their mouths met a second later. Dean's hand was at the back of Castiel's neck, keeping him there as if he had somewhere else to go. The younger boy's hand ran through Dean's hair.

The older boy's hands were at Castiel's jacket, pushing his shoulders away as they struggled to get the obstacle off. The younger boy took a step back, balancing himself, but Dean was there again, pushing. Castiel's back hit the wall near the stairs before his jacket was removed. The older boy broke the kiss, peering through heavy lidded eyes to make sure his friend was okay. In the pause, Castiel got his hands behind his back to tug the jacket off. Music started playing from behind closed doors. Sam had returned to his room.

Castiel tossed the jacket across the room to the couch, his hands returning to the hem of his shirt to rip that off too. Dean barely managed to stop him with a hand on his back and a distinctive push to get him around the corner and up the stairs.

They took the steps two at a time, too.

Once the older boy stepped inside, he turned to shut the door. Castiel was walking toward the bed, but Dean caught his wrist and pulled him back. He spun them, and the younger boy's back was to the door. The bigger body effectively pinned him there.

Castiel waited, praying for the kissing to resume. When it didn't, he found Dean's gaze and held it. His arms wrapped around Dean's shoulders, before one hand reached up to run a hand through the older boy's hair. Castiel was expecting the third verbal warning about regretting it in the morning. He was sick of hearing it.

"Dean…" he breathed.

The older boy's lips parted in a near snarl. Castiel couldn't see his eyes, but could tell they were open just wide enough to see through. He was looking at Castiel's lips, pink and swollen. When his eyes finally snapped to meet the blue, his eyes were so dark he looked possessed. It sent shivers down the younger boy's spine.

"Piano?" was the only word that Dean got out before Castiel pulled them together again, but their mouths met somewhere in the middle. And Castiel knew. It wasn't the piano that made Dean snap. Not really. It was just the excuse – a final straw – and Castiel was so okay with that. He was aching for it. After a few seconds into the kiss, Castiel felt Dean grind against him. He arched his hips and groaned into the kiss.

The older boy reached his hands over his head, gripping a handful of his shirt between his shoulder blades. Castiel helped pull until the garment was removed and abandoned on the floor. Castiel's followed suit, but unlike the previous times, the charge was led by Dean running his fingers up Castiel's sides until there was no place for it to go but over his shoulders.

Dean tossed Castiel's shirt on the floor next to his before returning his hand to the back of Castiel's neck and pulled him in again. Their chests touched for a brief moment that sent sparks flying through every nerve where connection was made straight to Castiel's spine. His hands were at Dean's hips for a moment before they flew on autopilot, struggling with the belt.

For once, Dean didn't slap his hand away. He responded by taking a step back, giving Castiel easier access. The younger boy fumbled as if it were his first time ever removing a belt – which, granted, it was (besides his own belt, Crowley's tailored suits rarely required a belt) – and he broke the kiss with a savage growl when he couldn't master it without looking.

Dean chuckled, squeezing the back of his partner's neck lightly to try and calm him down. It didn't help, but when the older boy pushed Castiel's hair back and kissed his forehead, Castiel felt himself relax.

After his victory over the belt, snapping the button and unzipping the fly were significantly easier. Castiel pushed Dean's hips, and the boy walked backward until he met the bed. He half sat – half leaned against it. The younger boy seemed to be in a rush to get Dean naked and gave a frustrated whine that Dean was blocking his access by leaning against something.

Castiel flashed, unwillingly, to memories of Crowley. How it had been to get on his knees before him, to give something without ever expecting reciprocity. He wanted reciprocity from Dean, but how was he supposed to earn it when the older boy wouldn't let him remove his pants?

Dean responded by fidgeting with Castiel's belt. He made much quicker work of it. Castiel's pants were off before he even realized that it was the first time someone had ever made a grab for him before. He was sure his heart was beating through his skin. Standing in his underwear before the older boy, he suddenly felt naked and vulnerable.

Was that what Dean meant when he said he would regret it?

"Lay down," Dean said. But it was more of a suggestion than a command, and Castiel climbed on the bed and laid on his back because of it. Dean the fucking stoic stood and pushed his pants down before stepping out of them. He hovered over Castiel on the bed for a moment before pushing their lips gently together.

Dean's palm started at Castiel's collarbone. Through the lazy kisses, the younger boy could feel his friend explore his chest – something flat and unknown to him. As Castiel had started half a week ago, Dean seemed to be studying the body before him and committing it to memory.

He didn't get too far down before he felt the raised flesh and broke the kiss to look down to see the scar.

 _Fuck_.

"Damn, Cas," Dean breathed, his fingers tracing the circle over the younger boy's chest. It was faded – it must have never been too deep – but to the touch it was a prominent raise. "What happened?"

Castiel's arm wrapped around Dean's shoulder and he pulled him back down. The older boy indulged in a few, slow kisses before he felt Castiel pushing his tongue against his lips, asking for access. Dean opened his mouth, lowering his chest so he was half-laying on Castiel as they kissed.

All the while, Dean's fingers ran laps around the circle.

However, when Dean leaned back, he didn't ask again.

Dean's fingers paused over Castiel's hipbone, which jutted out somewhat unnaturally with his unnaturally low weight for his height. Castiel was sure that Dean could recognize that the boy was too thin, but the way he rubbed at the bone, somewhere deep in his thoughts, the younger boy doubted that Dean could actually put the variables together to guess what was wrong with Castiel.

And weren't there a hundred correct answers to that question.

But the older boy didn't prod with words. His fingers danced over the elastic band at his hips before his eyes met the blue of the boy below him, asking permission like a regular southern gentleman.

 _Yes. Yes. Yes._ Skipped through Castiel's mind, and he only realized he didn't answer aloud when the older boy didn't move. Castiel's mouth opened, but words didn't come out, so he just nodded. His hand found Dean's head and ran his fingernails gently over Dean's scalp.

The older boy smiled, and in one movement, Castiel was naked.

After a second's hesitation, Castiel felt a heavy hand on him. At the contact, he shut his eyes and tilted his head back. He hummed his appreciation and encouragement. Dean propped himself up on his elbow and started moving.

Touching yourself was something entirely different from having someone else touch you. Half the joy came from the unknown, even when a steady rhythm had been established. The rhythm was slow, like Dean was actually focused on his actions. Maybe he was comparing them – using tricks on Castiel he knew he liked himself – and the experimentation of it made Castiel's muscles tremble.

And the younger boy enjoyed it, the lazy, hesitant strokes. But he couldn't see why Crowley would be willing to trade it for drugs until Dean completely surprised him by adding his mouth to the mix.

A tremor ravaged Castiel's body as his hand went back to Dean's head. He knew enough from Crowley that he wouldn't push Dean toward him – Castiel hated being manhandled and guided and _choked_ – but he longed for a connection to Dean.

He wanted to kiss him, have him over his body, not that he was complaining. Oh no. Castiel was not complaining.

Dean sat up for a second, still using his hand, and Castiel barely managed to open his eyes to see why.

"How is that?" Dean's cheeks were tinted pink, as if he figured he must be doing awful, but couldn't help it. "Is it okay?"

"It feels pleasant, Dean. Rapturous," and against his previous comment about being manhandled, he tugged at the back of Dean's head to pull him closer. The older boy smiled as he adjusted and got on his knees, leaning his body over Castiel's to kiss him once again.

They stayed kissing for another few moments before Dean slid back down the younger boy with renewed confidence and a sudden sense of purpose that caused Castiel to tangle his free hand in the blanket. He was determined to stay quiet – though his thoughts were too far gone to come up with any logical reason other than "Sam can't hear us" – but he couldn't control the small whimpers and moans that came from some primal place inside him he didn't really understand. He couldn't control himself as he chanted his friend's name like a prayer, either.

It was an embarrassingly short amount of time later that Castiel was nodding and whimpering a warning to Dean. To his surprise, the older boy kept going. Castiel's eyes were shut, but white light came in around the edges right before and stars erupted on the red canvas when the pressure released.

To Castiel's complete delight and surprise, Dean kept moving until small aftershock waves raked through Castiel's body. He opened his eyes to see Dean wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand, looking rather pleased with himself.

Castiel breathed, shutting his eyes once more. He felt Dean curl up to his side and rest his head on Castiel's chest. His heart was still beating a mile a minute, but after another few moments, his heart rate and breathing patterns returned to somewhat normal.

He shifted himself from underneath Dean. Or at least he tried. Instead, the older boy raised his head to look at him.

"Thank you," Castiel's hand ran through Dean's hair again. The affection was apparent in his voice, and the sincerity surprised even him.

Dean tinged pink again, like he's never been thanked before, which probably, he hasn't. In hindsight, it was probably a stupid thing to say, but _thank you_ was safer than _I love you_ which was the other thing threatening to come out of his mouth.

It was strange. There was a low glowing hum of pride and affection and desire that started in his chest and vibrated itself bigger, up and down his torso and through his arms and legs. It spread the way heat from a shot of alcohol did, but didn't leave a bad taste in his mouth.

Castiel assumed the feeling was love.

Dean tried to lay himself back down, to end the not-quite-uncomfortable awkward moment, but the younger boy put his hands on his shoulders and stopped him.

"Wait, Dean," he murmured. "It's your turn."

The older boy's body betrayed the shake of his head and the insistence that, "You don't have to do that, Cas." Castiel felt him twitch against his leg, and his palm suddenly rested on his hipbone, like he was ready to roll them over in opposite positions at a second's notice.

But Castiel felt that reciprocity was mandatory. He wanted to give something back to Dean to show his appreciation and affection. He may have been half-high on whatever chemicals release in the brain during an orgasm, but he wanted to give something to Dean that was pure and holy. And while the cigarettes and drugs and alcohol had no doubt tainted his body's temple to be less than perfect, he still had his virginity. That had to be something.

"Dean," Castiel whispered, rolling on his side to face his friend. Dean's eyes opened slowly, looking a shade greener than Castiel had previously remembered. The younger boy latched his foot around Dean's leg and gripped his shoulder. With one, swift jerk, Castiel had rolled Dean on top of him.

The older boy winced at the contact and friction, hands slipping to either side of his friend's head to hold himself up. Staring down, he started a protest with "Cas, wha–" but was left no opportunity to finish his question. Castiel's hand was at Dean's neck, pulling him down. The younger boy kept pulling at the kiss, trying to make it deeper, and Dean was pushing back. They kissed for long, comfortable moments.

Castiel's nails raked over Dean's sides, causing a shutter from the older boy, before they settled at his hips. He repositioned Dean, who seemed to be doing anything to avoid actual contact, and dug his fingers into the material separating them. He half pulled the boy down, and half ground his hips up to him.

It was the pull on the string that caused the machine to burst to life. Dean moaned deep in his throat and started moving, all pistons and levers and gears, grinding himself against the younger boy like he was a fifteen year old virgin chasing his first time. It continued on for a minute or so, until the fabric became painful to the smaller boy, and he started pushing at the only barrier between them.

The older boy didn't help Castiel with his task, but hindered it by ignoring him completely. Castiel dug his fingernails into the flesh at Dean's hips, which caused the older boy to break the kiss and look at him. His eyes were black as sin again.

"Help me, Dean."

It took him a second to understand what Castiel was even talking about. Instead of helping, the older boy just rolled his hips, slowing his tempo to be lazy once more. Castiel sighed, eyes practically rolling back in his head.

"Are you sure?" Dean lifted his hips up and looked down at his friend. He wasn't ready for a second round yet, but the older boy saw Castiel twitch at the attention. The mind was strong, even if the flesh was weak and oversensitive. But they were teenagers, and if Dean himself were anything to go by, it wouldn't take too much longer. He wouldn't go on unless Castiel was right there with him. He couldn't.

" _Yes,_ Dean." Castiel whined.

The older boy gave another roll of his hips, down against Castiel, and propped himself up on his hands to adjust his angle. Castiel was writhing beneath Dean. "You can't take it back once it's done."

"I know, Dean."

"Don't you want rose peddles and candles and girly first time rituals?" Dean whispered, grinding his hips down again – like he had thought about it, like he planned on doing it, if they hadn't rushed – or if Dean had only known this was going to happen tonight. Was he trying to talk him out of this? Castiel didn't even think Dean knew.

The younger boy made another attempt to push the fabric down, but his arms were too short to do anything really. Dean had him pinned down. Instead, Castiel dragged his fingers up to the small of the older boy's back. Dean bowed into them.

"I want _you_."

Dean was off him and pulling off the remaining article of clothing and was back on Castiel before the younger boy fully registered him leaving. Before he leaned down to kiss him, Dean popped a finger in his mouth.

Castiel watched in fascination. The older boy was looking away, like he was embarrassed that he was doing it at all. It wasn't like some cheap porn movie where the dude was trying to look sexy to seduce his female victim. Dean's cheeks were tinted pink, all too aware that Castiel was watching him, and he pulled fingers out quickly.

They started kissing again before Castiel felt Dean near him. He froze – he couldn't help it – and whimpered as he felt Dean press a warm finger against him, just rubbing at the muscle there. He took his time, waiting until he felt Castiel relax before he made an effort to push into him.

Castiel tensed instantly, and Dean pulled away, concern etched on his face when Castiel managed to open his eyes and look up at him. The dark-haired boy opened his mouth to reassure his friend, but Dean was already making quick work of climbing off the bed. Castiel propped himself up on his elbow, frowning as he asked, "Dean, I–?"

"Hang on a sec, Cas," Dean said, digging under his bed to find an old duffle bag. He pulled out some clothes and near the bottom, out of Castiel's line of vision, he pulled out a bottle of something. He kicked the duffle bag to the side – he would worry about it later – and climbed back up on the bed. He settled himself between Castiel's knees, sitting back on his feet, and ran a hand down his friend's abdomen. The younger boy sighed, thanking God that the contact didn't stop like he thought it was going to, and Dean's hands left him long enough to take the top off the bottle, and put some on his hands. "This should make it easier."

This time, Dean's finger was much cooler, and Castiel had to fight not to squirm away. He couldn't quite hide the smile, either way. With the teasing and the feather-light touches, Castiel felt himself growing back to life. Dean noticed, too, and leaned over, pressing a kiss to the sensitive flesh before kissing further up Castiel's chest, pausing for a moment before kissing his lips once again.

It was then that Castiel felt the invasion. It wasn't pleasant – not even slightly – and if Dean's mouth hadn't been over his, he would have called off this foolish experiment. With every fiber of his body screaming _no_ , Dean pushed a little into the kiss and hummed.

Castiel had stopped kissing him when he tensed.

The younger boy made an effort to kiss Dean back, to displace the tension and panic and focus solely on the kiss. Dean's lips enveloped Castiel's bottom lip, and he bit lightly, trying to focus the pain away. The younger boy's arm tightened around Dean's shoulders, and he arched into the kiss.

A few moments went by before Castiel noticed it didn't hurt anymore. It was like Dean sensed it too, at the same time, and he started moving. The foreign feeling took a few minutes to get used to, but in far less time than it took to adjust to the initial intrusion, the feeling adjusted again from strange to tolerable to pleasurable. It took long minutes before the younger boy felt like he was ready for more, and once Castiel nodded his approval to Dean, the older boy added another. Dean broke the kiss with a sigh, before attaching himself to Castiel's neck. After a few more minutes, Dean leaned back on his heels again, taking the sensitive flesh in his free hand, admiring the look of shocked pleasure on Castiel's face.

Two to three was another big step, but between Dean's soft words of encouragement, and his steady hand pulling lazily at his flesh, Castiel adjusted to that feeling as well.

When Castiel finally dared to open his eyes, Dean had his bottom lip firmly held between his teeth, and his heavy eyelids could hardly remain open. He had been slow, meticulous, and selfless until this point – everything had been focused on Castiel – and these qualities hadn't been what the younger boy expected from his friend.

Castiel reached down, and put his hand on Dean's forearm, motioning for him to stop. He did, and his eyes fell on Castiel's. "One last chance to back out," Dean joked humorlessly, almost fearfully.

" _Dean,"_ Castiel honestly hadn't meant it to come out sounding like that, but his body betrayed him. Want and desire dripped from the boy's name mixed with affection and love. The boy above him shuttered.

For a second, Castiel felt empty when Dean's fingers left. "Hang on," Dean said a second time. "I need to grab…" but Castiel's hand gripped tighter on Dean's forearm, shaking his head.

"No, don't make me wait any longer," Castiel begged, and Dean – who was otherwise very responsible when it came to things like that – gave in without a fight. It wasn't like his friend could get pregnant anyways.

The older poured more of the clear liquid onto his hand before rubbing it on himself. He scooted forward on his knees, positioning himself where his fingers hand been. His eyes connected with Castiel's. This was it – the point of no return – and Castiel's hands moved to Dean's shoulders for something to cling to.

Castiel's fingernails clenched tighter and tighter as Dean moved as slowly and carefully as possible. When the older boy couldn't move any further, he lowered himself from his hands to his elbows, chest pressed against his friend's, and kissed him. The tense boy below him was far more hesitant to allow himself to relax this time, even with the careful, reassuring kisses.

Second by second, however, Dean could feel the younger body adjust. It started in his shoulders, which had been hunched together at his ears. They slowly relaxed back into the mattress. The relaxation ran down his spine as he sighed, then he lowered his hips back to the mattress as well, uncurling the tailbone that had tried to pull himself away. Finally, his fingers smoothed over the half-moon marks left over the other boy's shoulders.

Even after Dean could feel the tension had drained from Castiel, and the younger boy was nodding him on, Dean didn't move. He was dying to move. It was like having a forkful of pie in his mouth but he wasn't allowed to chew or swallow. Still, being relaxed wasn't enough. He adjusted his weight so he was holding himself on his left elbow. Dean reached out his other hand to cup Castiel's neck and push their lips slowly together.

This time, Castiel responded.

His fingers slid from Dean's shoulders to his neck, holding him down to keep the kiss going. With fingers on his chin, Castiel angled the older boy's face, pushing up into the kiss like he didn't care if they needed to ever breathe again.

But still Dean didn't move. He didn't move when Castiel broke the kiss to beg against his lips.

He did move, however, when he felt Castiel's fingernails snake down his back and grip his hips, pushing and pulling Dean's hips for him, pushing his heels into the mattress to try to rock himself to add to the movement. Small moans of pleasure and frustration were expelled by the boy, responding so well from the small amount of shifting his position allowed, and the least he could do was help his friend out.

Dean went slowly, carefully at first. For a few moments, the younger boy's eyes shut, but sparks of displeasure would flash on his face from time to time. Those sparks were soon replaced with jolts of pleasure.

It was when Castiel was a writhing, sweaty, swearing mess below him that Dean had his last thought. It wasn't so much a thought, but the sight of the boy below him, with his fingers clenching Dean's hips, guiding him, daring him to stop, with his head thrown back, hickeys and love-bites decorating his chest and shoulders. It wasn't until he saw him like this that Dean felt his chest explode with fire. It washed over his nerves, shooting up his extremities, filling him with a feeling of warmth he'd never felt before.

Then Castiel reached between them, touching himself with a sense of purpose, and Dean lost the ability to think.

Dean wasn't sure, but he didn't think it took too long after that for Castiel to paint their chests and Dean quickly followed, kissing the younger boy to hide the sounds of ecstasy that poured from his mouth like curse words.

And being the complete prince of a human that he was, Dean even cleaned them up, rubbing a tissue over the younger boy's chest. For his part, Castiel didn't fight him. He had a hand pushing the hair off his forehead, his chest rising and falling erratically to try and catch his breath. His eyes opened a sliver at one point, watching as Dean wiped his own stomach and throw away the tissues.

If he was going to thank him again, it got lost between his brain and his mouth.

Dean offered Castiel something to sleep in, which he silently put on, lifting himself on shaking legs to slip the material over his hips. And with complete satisfaction, Dean joined the younger boy in bed. He didn't need to coax him or talk to him. Castiel just rolled over, cuddling to the contours of his side. Dean was sure he fell asleep in a matter of moments, the way the younger boy's heavy but relaxed breath attacked his neck.

Usually, cuddling sort of freaked Dean out. It was the moment of clarity where regret sat in. The familiar _we should have waited_ or _I don't even know her last name_ or _I don't love her_ didn't come to him. That warmth that exploded in him was pulsing with _Cas Cas Cas_ , and his hand was running itself through Castiel's hair without Dean's permission.

Dean knew he should be afraid of the intensity, but he was too tired. He let it wash over him, and soon enough, he had fallen into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs: 
> 
> Not technically a song (or is it?) Lucifer quotes Psalm 22 when he is on his knees in the church.
> 
> Dean quote "Pinball Wizard" by the Who when he says that Cas "sure plays a mean pinball" in the bar.
> 
> And the song at the bar is “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen.


	6. Open Doors

 

 

 

**Chapter 6: "Open Doors"**

Castiel's eyes shot open like Jack's on the first episode of _Lost_ , confused and disoriented and in pain. He was drenched in sweat, and tremors were rocking through his body. He was on the far side of the bed, tangled around Dean, and he wasn't exactly sure how he was going to remove himself from the other boy.

Even though Dean had Castiel's arm clenched in his hand, cuddling it like it was a teddy bear, the hunger in Castiel was stronger. Freeing his hand then a leg, he rolled back slightly until he broke contact with the older boy without waking him. Stuck between the wall and Dean Winchester, Castiel scanned the bedroom to find where his shirt was.

He wished he had telekinesis.

Castiel inched his way down the bed. Dean was still curled up in a ball, and the younger boy slipped from the mattress without disturbing his friend. He shoved his shirt on and stood for a moment in Dean's borrowed pajama bottoms, watching the other boy sleep. His chest continued to rise and fall, but his face twisted for a second as if he was suddenly cold or having a bad dream.

He thought about reaching out to him, comforting him, but the acid in his stomach was screaming at his throat like it couldn't stand to be inside him for a second longer, and Castiel ran to the bathroom.

It wasn't often that the boy had actual withdrawal. He didn't lock the door when he collapsed on the bathroom floor, barely making it to the toilet. At the bar, he knew he should take something. How idiotic to think that a sex high would replace the drugs. His schedule of Xanax was only off by two hours, but as he pushed the sweaty, matted hair off his forehead, he wished he could turn back time.

There was nothing in his stomach to throw up. After two or three dry-heaves, the boy had tears in his eyes and was silently praying for death. This was the worst. And the worst part about it was if he didn't get the drug in him, he'd continue to be sick, but if he did, he risked throwing it up and wasting it.

When he felt well enough where vomit wasn't in the foreseeable future, Castiel stood on shaky legs and dug the baggy from his pocket. The boy slowly descended the stairs. His thighs groaned in protest – muscles angry at the stretching from the previous night – but he made it down without falling.

The pill was in his mouth before he was at the sink, and it was down his throat before he took a giant gulp of water from the faucet.

He ran his hands under the water before cupping them and letting it pool. He brought it up to his face, and the coolness of it calmed him. He rubbed his face, trying to break up the sweat and grease before bringing another handful of water to wash it away. He ran his hands through his hair, breathing out for the first time since he woke up.

He shut the faucet off and put his hands on either side of the kitchen sink, shoulder blades thrown back, riding the nausea out until the Xanax kicked in.

"Cas, you okay?"

Castiel turned around, seeing Sam standing at the foot of the stairs looking far younger than fifteen. He was in shorts and a t-shirt, obviously recently awakened by the way he rubbed his eyes.

"Did Dean do something to you?"

"What?" Castiel approached the younger boy. "No. I… had a bad dream. You should go back to sleep, Sam." He gestured to the stairs, trying to usher the boy back up.

Sam twisted his head toward the clock and shook his head. "It's past eight. I'm usually up around now anyway." The younger boy rubbed a hand through his messy hair with a small, genuine smile playing at the corner of his mouth, like he was the one who lost his virginity last night. Castiel marveled at the way that Sam could be happy with nothing – no drugs, no alcohol, nobody in his bed – and he envied him.

"Have you ever seen _Glee_?"

Castiel hadn't realized that he had dropped his gaze from the boy until he looked back up. His vision was swimming enough to let him know that the Xanax was kicking in, and the familiar, blissful fog started coating everything he could see. It was like a blanket was thrown over his body and he was being held tight. The nausea faded and was replaced with warmth.

The older boy shook his head, and Sam's grin grew wider. He walked to the living room and sat down on one of the couches, firing up the Wii and turning on the TV. Castiel sat on the other couch.

"You will seriously love this show, Cas," The boy grinned at him. "It's a bunch of nerdy kids who like to sing."

After a second, Castiel found himself giving a shaky smile back to the younger boy.

Dean walked downstairs after forty some minutes more of sleep, just to see if the other boy was still there. He approached until he heard the bastardization of _Don't Stop Believing_ that Sam absolutely loved. With empty threats declaring mass murder if his little brother got Castiel into _Glee_ , he trekked back up the stairs to take a shower.

Though he seemed happy knowing that the boy hadn't run off after last night. And when he came back from the shower, he joined them for an episode. When he sat down, Castiel snuggled into him. Sam pretended not to notice the smile on Dean's lips when the younger boy instantly melted to him, or the way he kissed Castiel's head, just above his ear.

* * *

Word had spread over the weekend that a gang was popping up. On Monday morning, Lucifer noticed how students would be chatting with each other in the halls, but as he approached they would stop and look away as if they had been talking about him. He didn't know why Lindsey Lohan was so bent out of shape about it in _Mean Girls_. He thought it was kind of empowering.

Despite the rumors he heard floating to his ears about his gang, about the drugs they were supposedly selling to raise money for more gang-like activities, nobody approached him about it. Nobody seemed to want to buy the drugs.

In fact, the only time he actually heard anyone mention the drugs in his actual presence was when he sat down at his younger brothers' table – where he had been sitting since before the party – and he heard Ruby telling Sam about how _she_ had some product. She wasn't asking him if he wanted to buy drugs or anything; more so, she was asking him to keep a lookout for druggies who may want to buy. He insisted he didn't know any, even when she started rubbing his arm over his bicep through his shirt.

It was better for everyone if he didn't sit next to Sam at lunch, but the more Ruby came on to the younger boy, the harder it was so sit in the same area code with them.

It was the next day that his drug operation actually seemed to catch a break.

Twenty minutes into his lunch period, Lucifer felt a hand on his shoulder. He half expected it to be the police – or at least the officer who hung out at the school – or Michael, but when he met Castiel's dulled eyes, he was actually surprised. Castiel nodded a greeting to Sam, but otherwise seemed to ignore the table full of his own blood, other than to look at Lucifer expectantly. It was their first interaction since Castiel gave him painkillers and prayed for him when Michael casted him out.

"Castiel…" he started, but words could never be enough.

The younger boy cocked his head to the side, gesturing to the hallway. Lucifer took the hint, stood, and started leading his brother to the bathroom down the hall. The older boy began to fidget as he walked the one hundred feet with his brother. Castiel had never pulled him from lunch before, had never even really made the effort to find him to talk. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good.

When they walked into the bathroom and Castiel made sure nobody else was in there, Lucifer had the sickening feeling that his younger brother was going to attack him. When he leaned against a sink and looked at his reflection in the mirror, Lucifer couldn't stand the silence any longer and asked, "You don't have lunch right now. Where are you supposed to be?"

"English."

"Michael would kick your ass if he knew you were skipping," Lucifer warned. Castiel shot him a look that couldn't be interpreted any other way than _fuck Michael_ and Lucifer felt himself relax.

It still took a couple of seconds for Castiel to speak up. He turned away from looking at himself in the mirror and made eye-contact with his brother.

"Let me run for you."

Lucifer's hand found the sink and he leaned on it for support. "What?"

"They say you're selling drugs," Castiel moved forward, with his brother leaning over they were almost the same height. "They say you and Crowley are making a gang to corrupt the youth and to piss Michael off. Let me run for you."

"How," Lucifer looked up. His brother's eyes looked the same shade of blue they always did, but they looked duller than he remembered. Like he was half asleep or something. "How do you even know what running is?"

Without missing a beat, Castiel deadpanned, "National geographic."

"No, brother. It's dangerous," Lucifer insisted.

"I really need the money," Castiel broke eye-contact and looked at his brother's cast. He hadn't let anyone sign it, but he had been drawing the symbols from the church on it like he could use alchemy to set his bone right. "I am at the Winchesters every night, but they can't afford food. I need to help them."

Castiel felt his brother stand and cross the gap until he was right before him. "The Winchesters are that poor?"

The younger boy nodded, looking up at his brother again. "Their father is never home. He's an alcoholic. Please, Lucifer. I cannot let them starve because of me."

"I'll have to talk to Crowley about it," Lucifer admitted. "I'm sure there won't be a problem."

Castiel frowned. If Crowley had any say – after months of contact then two weeks of radio silence – Castiel would not be running drugs. He was taking their separation poorly, and it didn't help that Castiel didn't bother to even try to hide the fact that he was ignoring him. The younger brother bit his lip, agitation bubbling through his body. Lucifer frowned for a second, before a smile broke out on his lips.

"You don't like Crowley."

"We have a colorful history," Castiel commented, setting his jaw, determined not to give anything away. "That's all. I don't think he likes me much."

Lucifer laughed, like he knew the history between his brother and his cohort, but Castiel didn't think he really did. It was nice to see his brother happy, considering the circumstances under which he last saw him. Lucifer thrived in his new habitat. He was created to be victimized and demonized.

But that was a sad, lonely existence.

"Gabriel tells me that Michael prays for you frequently," Castiel offered. "And not only to cure you for your supposed illness."

His brother sighed, a frown crossing his features. "I'll tell you what, brother. If you get me some of my things from my room, you can be our runner. Fuck what Crowley says."

Castiel nodded. Anything.

"I need my cell phone and some clothes. I've pretty much been recycling two pairs of pants, and I can't ever wash them fast enough," Lucifer held out his hand to shake on the deal.

Castiel looked at it for a moment before raising his eyes to meet the cold blue of his brother. "Doesn't Crowley kiss to seal a deal?" From Gabriel it would sound like an incestuous come-on. From Castiel, Lucifer knows it was a chastisement at his choice of partner.

Lucifer frowned before forcing a dark, unamused smirk and a smart comeback. "Wouldn't want to upset Dean, would we?"

Castiel shook his brother's icy hand before patting the side of his face, mimicking the affectionate gesture he had seen the Winchesters show to each other. Lucifer smiled then and patted his younger brother's head like a dog. Castiel smiled back.

* * *

Everyone had vices. After a long day of school and work, Dean liked to ravage Castiel. Not that Sam actually _knew_ that, but he knew his brother wasn't talking with his boyfriend (or whatever) for the hour after Sam departed the couple to when Castiel left to go home. Sam would assume, then, that Castiel liked to ravage his brother right back. They were their own vices.

Gabriel loved candy. He kept Three Musketeers in a cigar box under his bed like normal kids kept weed. When the going got tough, the younger boy would sink his teeth into something sweet and be completely without shame as his eyes rolled back and he sank into his chair or bed.

Even Bela, the newest addiction to Sam and the Novaks' little posse, had a vice. Sam had watched her while the four of them were in the youngest brothers' room when she thought nobody was looking. One minute she'd be looking at some small object – nothing of any real value usually – and the next minute it would be gone. She would slip Balthazar's toys into her pants pocket, or sometimes her hoodie, and once, even her bra.

It was a curious development, but until she stole something of value, Sam chopped the strange actions up to being a teenage girl in love.

After he excused himself from his brother and his boyfriend (or whatever) that night, Sam climbed the stairs two at a time like he always did. He put a brick in front of the door (Dean wouldn't let him have a lock, but teenagers needed their privacy, damn it! The brick was heavy enough to stall his brother for a few seconds, but not heavy enough to be a hindrance if he was dying in there and Dean needed to get to him quickly to save his life). He put on a CD that Balthazar had given him – usually something he knew Dean hated like Fall Out Boy or Panic! at the Disco – and he would go to his closet.

Sam pushed all the clothes to the front until the only thing that remained at the back wall was a jacket. He slipped the jacket from hanger and instinctively put it to his face like he always did.

That was Sam's vice.

The white track jacket didn't even have the faintest trace of Lucifer left on it, but Sam was always hopeful. He managed to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror, looking like a total stalker fangirl creep sniffing at something once owned by her biggest crush, and he was reminded of that scene in Brokeback where Heath Ledger was doing the same with Jake Gyllenhaal's jacket.

Maybe Sam was a bit more like a star-crossed romantic and less like a stalker creep, but he doubted it.

Sam slipped the jacket on.

Not that the younger Winchester kept tabs on how much he grew on a day to day basis – and surely, he didn't grow in a mere two and a half weeks – but every day he kind of felt like he grew into the jacket more and more. That wasn't to say it didn't still cover his fingertips if he held it down normal, but he felt he was growing up. Like if he was just a little braver, he could talk to the boy who sat with him at lunch every day, who brought him to a party, who almost kissed him.

They hadn't talked since Michael broke his arm.

It wasn't like Sam had been avoiding Lucifer, but what could he say to the guy who got kicked out of his house for just trying to kiss him? Especially when Sam spent hours at that house every day after school. It seemed like kind of a deal breaker to Sam. Besides, Lucifer wasn't speaking to him, either.

And that was kind of the worst part.

Sam flopped down on his bed and tried to think of something else. When nothing came, he resorted to whining to himself.

He just needed someone to talk to about the whole thing. To offer advice. And the thing was that even if his dad was there, there was no way he'd go to John with something like this. How exactly would a son have that conversation? "Dad, I'm totally crushing on this guy Dean's age. Teach me how to seduce him." No. It would be dangerous for a daughter to ask that – it would be suicide for a son.

And normally, little brothers went to their big brothers for help with girls. And apparently Dean was gay now (or whatever) so it shouldn't be a big deal for him. And it probably wouldn't be, if Lucifer wasn't so much older and violent and named for the devil. If Sam went up to Dean and asked him for help seducing Gabriel, he doubted there'd be a problem, but Lucifer? It was suicide, too.

But Castiel already knew. He'd seen them at the party together, and he'd heard from Michael what had happened on the hill that night. And he hadn't told Dean anything. The way the older boy would slip in details about Lucifer – intimate snapshots of pleasant times from their childhood – when it was just the two of them made Sam believe that Castiel supported them.

Or, at least, Castiel was casting the line to see if Sam would bite.

Which, to be honest, he always did.

Sam decided to talk to Castiel next time they were alone together, just so Sam could had an idea of what was going on in Lucifer's head. He was _so_ beyond slipping him a note that asked, "Do you like me? Circle one: yes, no, maybe."

Well, maybe that could work, if he could get it past Ruby.

No, stop it. Sam thought. Stop being stupid.

The youngest Winchester stood, smoothing his hands over the jacket before taking it off and returning it to its haven in the back of his closet. Sooner or later, he'd have to give Lucifer his jacket back – it was, after all, his favorite – but Sam decided he could be an obsessed fangirl a little longer.

When he shut the music off, moved the brick, and laid back on his bed, he felt empty without the jacket. It was like a security blanket that he'd never needed in the past, but longed for now. But he couldn't risk Dean coming in during the night to check on him and catch him sleeping with it.

Instead, he cuddled up to a Power Rangers pillow he'd had since he was a kid. He closed his eyes and imagined it was Lucifer.

* * *

Wednesday after school, Dean parted from Castiel at the Novak house with a small brush of his hand on his forearm – pretty much everyone (who knew them) knew they were together, but they hadn't told anyone anything official because they probably were too proud to talk about it – and Gabriel held the door open for Sam, shamelessly mocking the way Balthazar held the door for Bela.

He indulged Michael's fussing and his prayers. After half an hour, Michael locked himself in his room, and the younger Novaks, Sam, and Bela watched _Glee_ on Balthazar's laptop.

Despite Sam's promise that he would love it, Castiel didn't really seem too completely enthralled. He complained about the plot line, but enjoyed the music well enough. Sam insisted that the point was the music and the shit that happened in between didn't really matter too much. ("The writers had no sense of continuity, anyway"). At the start of an episode, Castiel popped a pill into his mouth – not anything that his brothers or Sam found weird – and washed it down with a glass of water.

Michael appeared around the time the Kurt and the football team were doing the _Single Ladies_ routine. Gabriel rushed forward to pause the video, and Castiel moved his eyes lazily from the screen to his brother, almost as if he couldn't see why his younger brother wanted to hide this from his elder. His hands tapped at his legs like he was counting the seconds until the show started again.

Michael held out his phone as if that were some cosmic answer that they'd all understand. When he received blank stares, he added more. "Adam Milligan needs help with his homework. I'm going to meet him halfway."

The silence that filled the room was awkward without Lucifer's _"Who's Adam, your boyfriend?"_ or some other smartass comment that the younger brothers were too afraid to make. Michael unceremoniously walked out the door.

Gabriel turned the show back on at the same time Castiel got on his knees and watched his brother walk away. Michael rounded the corner and he couldn't be seen.

Castiel counted ten more seconds before he stood, egged on by the drugs and the promise of more if he could just help the pariah, and made quick strides down the hall to the twins' room.

Aware his brothers were calling his name, he opened Michael's door and walked to the undisturbed side of the room. He looked under the bed and found one of Lucifer's blue duffle bags, he opened it around the time he noticed Gabriel, Balthazar, and Sam huddling just outside the door, like if they crossed the threshold of the twins' room, God would smite them.

"What are you doing?"

"Lucifer asked me to grab some things for him. Gabriel, go watch for Michael," Castiel commanded, opening the dresser. He pulled out three pairs of jeans and put them in the duffle bag. When he turned to add some shirts, he noticed Sam was at the dresser, picking through the shirts like he had all the time in the world to pick out the perfect outfit for Lucifer.

Castiel started searching for the cell phone.

It wasn't sitting out anywhere – either Michael had hid it or Lucifer had the foresight to hide it so Michael wouldn't notice it missing when he finally came back for it – and he started turning over pillows in search. Castiel made sure to put everything back exactly how he left it. Michael would be able to tell if things were awry.

As he turned his focus on the drawers of the boy's bed stand, Castiel heard Sam shoving clothes into the bag. With a quick turn of the head, he could see that Sam had the foresight to add socks and underwear, something Castiel hadn't really thought of.

His cell phone was in a box on the second shelf of the bed stand next to a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He threw the box in the bag, which has filled up pretty quickly with Sam's packing. The two boys looked around the room, trying to decide what else should be added.

Sam noticed a small teddy bear sitting half under a pillow. It was wearing a black silk shirt and a tie, and he studied it in his hands with a disturbing amount of thought – like maybe he was going to keep it for himself – before he put it in the bag.

"Guys," Gabriel called from the living room. "Michael and Adam just rounded the corner."

Sam zipped the duffle bag. Castiel knelt and pulled something from under the bed. It took him a moment to untangle it from everything else, but when he pulled it out, Sam recognized it as a violin case. "Bring it to my room. Put it under my bed."

Balthazar opened Castiel's bedroom door for Sam and together they shove the duffle bag and the violin case under the bed, then put clothes in front of it so Michael couldn't see.

Everyone was sitting back down, watching the _Single Ladies_ dance when Michael walked in with a hand on the freshman's shoulder. This time, they didn't pause it as the pair walked past them to do work in the twin's bedroom.

"Leave the door open," Balthazar said quietly, channeling Lucifer only after he knew that his brother couldn't hear him.

The others let out a nervous laugh with a breath they hadn't realized they had been holding.

* * *

Castiel and Sam carried the bag and the violin to the Winchesters' home, and the Winchesters carried it to school the next morning, much to Dean's protest. The stuff didn't fit in any of their lockers, so with a combination of Castiel's _I'm-smarter-than-you-but-I'm-trying-to-look-adorab le-and-unoffensive_ look, Sam's puppy dog eyes, and Dean's _I'm-sick-of-carrying-this-shit-and-I'm-leaving-it- here-regardless-of-what-you-say_ body language radiating annoyance, the older boys' chemistry teacher agreed to let them leave the bags in there until after school.

After school, they watched from the window until they saw Sam walking to the Novaks' house with the youngest two and Michael, then Dean and Castiel carried the junk (as Dean has been referring it as) to the church.

From the outside, it still looked the same. The graffiti made it look intimidating, but the recent addition to the front door caused Dean to turn to Castiel and raise his eyebrow.

On the brick above the door, in neat script, someone had written LASCIATE OGNE SPERANZA, VOI CH'INTRATE.

Castiel's eyebrows sunk down his forehead as if he were annoyed.

"What's it say?"

"It's what's written over the gate to Hell in Dante's _Inferno_. 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.'" Castiel sighed. "I think my brother is taking his name a little too literally in this battle with Michael."

"You speak Latin?" Dean asked, opening the door for the younger boy.

"Dante wrote in Italian," Castiel stated without judgment, walking into the old building. Inside, it looked anything but old. The walls were white; the floors were swept and clean. His older brother was sitting in front of a large TV with a plastic guitar over his lap. Colored circles were flying closer to him. Ruby was yelling instructions on what to hit and when to strum. Lucifer growled angrily about how hard it was to hit the keys with a cast on his arm.

"So what other languages do you know?" Dean pried, suddenly interested.

Castiel shrugged like it wasn't anything to know more than one language. Dean grinned at him and tried to hand over the duffle bag he was holding. "I gotta get to work soon."

Over Dean's shoulder, Castiel saw the unmistakable form of Crowley walking up to them. Of course he would be at the Church; he was Lucifer's cohort. Castiel wasn't sure why he did it. It had been a while since he swore off teasing Crowley. He wasn't even sure if this constituted teasing Crowley or flaunting Dean, but the younger boy sat the violin down and threw his arms over Dean's neck, pulling him down.

The older boy was surprised – they'd never kissed in public (since the party, well, since Jo's bet) – but he responded quickly, putting his free hand on Castiel's hip.

Ruby was suddenly squealing like a teenage zombie who got the special brain cake she wanted at her Quinceañera. Crowley actually shoved them as he passed, muttering, "get a room." The shove got them to break apart: Dean a strange mix of confused and happiness, and Castiel trying not to look at Crowley. He failed, and the older boy tried to look like it didn't bother him, but his eyes gave him away.

Crowley disappeared into the kitchen.

"Winchester, you get your hands off my baby brother!" Lucifer yelled, head turned with the game paused; though, he did have a smile on his face.

"Work," Dean murmured, like he was reminding himself he had to leave. He kissed the smaller boy quickly one last time. "See you after."

"Goodbye, Dean."

By the time the older boy was gone, Lucifer was kneeling at his brother's feet, taking stock of what the boy had acquired from his room. Castiel bit his lip, feeling like his heart was being squeezed by an unseen fist, for a reason he couldn't understand.

"You," Lucifer looked up, confused. "You packed all my favorite shirts?"

"Sam Winchester packed your shirts and the bear," Castiel stated. Lucifer's fingers wrapped around the little bear with the same delicate affection that Sam held it the night before. "I grabbed your cell phone, the cigarettes, and the violin."

The older brother's hands froze, but his head rose, looking at his younger brother. When he looked back down, he abandoned the duffle bag and popped the latches on the instrument. "Why did you grab this? I haven't played in… forever." The way he was looking at the expensive violin – his once prized possession – Castiel was glad he brought it. Lucifer grabbed the paper and opened it. Sheet music that had been printed from the internet. He read the notes in his head and smiled when he recognized the tune.

"I used to like playing with you," Castiel admitted. "On Friday, I played the piano for the first time since dad left. It felt…" Words couldn't describe how it felt, but he settled for "…heavenly."

Lucifer nodded, setting the paper back into the case before standing up and hugging his younger brother. He didn't say thank you – he didn't have to – and Castiel just gripped the back of his brother's shirt.

When they broke apart, Lucifer led his younger brother farther into the room. The large open room was connected to the kitchen with a wall separating them, but the wall had a window the way diners did.

"Lady and gentleman, I have found our first runner."

Ruby didn't seem to have opinion either way, but from the opening in the wall, Castiel saw Crowley literally spit out whatever alcohol he was pouring down his throat. The British boy started coughing, trying to clear his windpipe as he made his way out of the room to lean against the door frame.

"Oh, sorry, oh mighty Prince of Hell, but I believe I misheard you. Did you say young Cassie was going to be… what exactly?"

"Our runner. We'll give him the drugs, he'll go sell them on the street, and he'll bring the money back to us," Lucifer tightened his arm around his brother's neck, challenging Crowley. "Is there something wrong with my little brother?"

No, Crowley though. He was a perfect specimen of a junkie. And Crowley, more than anyone else, could actually appreciate that about the younger boy. Hell, he _liked_ that Castiel could have some fun. He knew him better than anyone else. Certainly better than that straight, buff Winchester that was so fucking perfect he had to be flaunted in here.

"Well, I do believe we had some criteria for our runners. Do you remember what they were, Lucifer?"

"Make sure that they're paid well enough so they don't steal the drugs?" Lucifer asked.

Crowley's teeth hardly opened as he growled, "The other one."

"What, Crowley," Lucifer said, arm tightening around Castiel once more. It was beginning to feel less reassuring and more like a headlock, "are you implying?"

The British teen has been in the crowd watching his figurehead fight random battles against weaker men. Lucifer fought with no regard to human life, like he really had a third of heaven's angels at his back. Even with a broken wrist, the boy was intimidating. Perhaps the broken wrist added to the intimidation – it added a blunt object into the mix. But when Castiel crossed his arms and his eyes narrowed, Crowley actually held his breath.

It was a small display, but it spoke volumes. Castiel was most certainly Lucifer's younger brother.

"Surely you are not implying that I use drugs that I acquire from a seller," Castiel frowned. "And you certainly aren't implying that this particular drug dealer will trade his drugs for…"

Crowley held up a hand, grimacing, "I wasn't implying anything."

Lucifer frowned, aware that he missed something, but held it in. "So, since everything's set, you'll supply my brother with what he needs, right, Crowley?" The other senior started to protest – as did Castiel – but the older boy patted his brother on the back and walked back to his game.

Castiel joined his former dealer in the kitchen. The older boy had both palms on the center island, elbows locked, shoulders pushed out of his back. His head was hanging down, like he was incredibly uncomfortable being there in that situation with Castiel.

Well it wasn't all sunshine and roses for the younger boy either.

Crowley stayed in that position for a few moments longer before he turned to look at Castiel. Pain and rejection swam in his eyes until it gave away to confusion and anger. The questions were left unspoken, but Crowley's body was screaming them loud enough for Castiel to hear. _Are you clean now, or is it just me you don't want to be around? Dean Winchester – fucking Dean Winchester? What's wrong with me?_

Castiel stood his ground, aware that if he gave Crowley an inch, he'd take a mile.

A few moments later, the anguish was masked with calm professionalism, and Crowley walked a few paces away and started rutting around in the drawers, like the kitchen of an unlocked church was the safest place for a person to store drugs.

Castiel was trusted with five Percocets and five grams of pot split into 5 one gram bags. He tried to keep a poker face when the boy took out three balloons of heroin, the actual test and they both knew it, but he felt his heart thumping in his chest like his favorite mistress had just removed her clothes for him. His eyes were saucers and he could feel the needle pushing into his skin.

When Crowley dared a look at Castiel, his lips twisted into a wicked smile. The younger boy set his jaw, but the British teen saw through all that.

"You look like a fucking whore," the older boy hissed. "Your pupils are blown with lust. This is exactly what I told Lucifer not to do – bring a fucking junkie fiend in to ruin the profits."

Castiel's eyes finally broke from the drug to look back at Crowley and he could feel himself melting, ready to slip into old habits for the drug. Anything. His vein was throbbing; he had never felt desire like this before.

The older boy wasn't stupid. His hand went into his pocket and he pulled out a fifty dollar bill just to sweeten the pot. Leaning toward Castiel with his elbow against the counter, he held the money between his pointer and middle finger toward the younger boy.

"I'll give you fifty bucks if you get on your knees and blow me right now with your brother in the other room."

Castiel's eyes flicked through the window to where Lucifer and Ruby playing the guitar game in the larger room. They'd never know. He licked his lips and looked back at the British teen. A small part of his brain criticized him for even _thinking_ about accepting.

"I'm with Dean," he stated, hoping to sound blank, but his voice shook.

Crowley smiled, bending the joints in his finger, gesturing toward himself with the money. Castiel's eyes went from the money in his hand to the British teen's face, which seemed a lot closer than the last time he looked. He was freshly shaven and giving his most dazzling smile. Castiel had to admit he was handsome in a way that was unpredictably scary – in a way that Dean wasn't.

This time, a bigger part of Castiel felt guilty for thinking of it. He shook his head.

"Wot, are you and _him_ serious?" Crowley asked, surprising the younger boy with the venom he used as he spit Dean's pronoun. "He stuck it in you, yet?"

Castiel held his neutral face and didn't answer. Somehow, that was enough for Crowley to _know_ and the younger boy reveled in the way the older boy's face fell and grew agitated.

"You fucking whore," Crowley commented, but not in a way that Castiel actually took any offence too. The older boy started digging his hand in his pocket, pulling another fifty out and adding it with the other. "Hundred bucks. Let me fuck you. Just think how a hundred dollars would help your impoverish little charity fuck." He wiggled the money in front of Castiel again. "A Benjamin for twenty minutes. That's not bad money."

Castiel felt a smile spreading on his face. His fingers connected at Crowley's elbow and traced his forearm to his wrist, "Twenty minutes? More like five."

The younger boy pushed the British teen's hand away. He expected Crowley to be angrier at the jab, but he gave a small smirk and pocketed the money, watching Castiel with mild fascination as he gathered the drugs and put them in the pocket of his jacket as if he could break them with a touch. When he picked up the balloons of heroin, he licked his lips.

"Are you sure about this, angel?" Crowley sighed, crossing his arms.

The younger boy looked up at him before placing the heroin in his pocket as well. "I need the money," he insisted.

"You need the money, or you need the drugs? Look, my offer is serious. You won't make a hundred dollars for yourself selling drugs if you charged everyone double what I charge you," Crowley's hand found Castiel's arm. The younger boy knew he shouldn't let him touch him, but the contact was comforting. After all, Crowley knew more about Castiel than anyone else. They'd always shared a connection. And, with complete confidence, Castiel could say that Crowley had never once lied to him. "And it's a lot less dangerous in my bed, angel. Trust me."

"I appreciate your concern, but no. That would betray Dean, so I must decline," Castiel honestly meant it as gently as possible. Crowley's brown eyes looked a little disappointed and sad, but not at all like he thought this was actually over for good. Maybe he figured whatever was happening with pseudo-straight Dean Winchester wasn't going to last. Maybe he figured Castiel's addiction would drive them back together. Castiel frowned at his lack of faith.

"Then, I suppose I'll see you when you sell those. I trust you know how much you owe me?"

Castiel nodded.

"Be careful, angel."

* * *

Most people have some talent for something. Castiel sat on the swing-set in a park halfway between Dean's house and Lucifer's Church, arms looped around the metal chains, feet angling toward themselves with the pressure of the leather swing on his hips, thinking about it.

It was still light out, but on the horizon, he could see the half moon peeking out behind some trees. Mothers were either just bringing their children out to play or taking them into eat – six o'clock seemed to be divided among when many fathers returned from work. Although he was facing the children, it was the boys on the basketball court behind him that actually interested him.

Castiel didn't realize until today, but he had a talent for smelling other junkies. It seemed to be a classic case of _it-takes-one-to-know-one_ , because he just looked for kids who looked like he felt. Certain hungers manifest physically – laymen would call it withdrawal – and there were many _many_ kids walking around Lawrence, Kansas who had physical addictions.

After some two and a half hours, he managed to sell everything but two of the balloons of heroin. Which – whatever – any twelve year old can run drugs. That wasn't impressive. What Castiel found impressive was that he had taken Crowley's dare to sell them for twice what Crowley sold them for and they had actually been going. He sold all the Percoets for twenty dollars a pop – a balloon of heroin for fifty – and twenty each for the five grams of weed. Each of which were insanely overpriced, but whatever, if the idiots paid whatever the teenager suggested at first, who was Castiel to tell them they were getting ripped off?

He had $250 in his pocket now. Crowley had sold him the heroin for twenty, but it ran closer to forty in most other cities. So even fifty was a significant profit. He owed Crowley $160, but if he could just sell one more baggie of heroin, he could make over a hundred dollars of profit for the night and score a balloon free-of-charge for himself.

Castiel couldn't believe he didn't do this sooner.

The basketball players behind him were typical High School Hero types. They didn't go to his school but one of the bigger schools with a better sports program. Despite the fact that he had been selling to kids from other schools all night, he had stayed in his own neighborhood. It was safer here, and he wasn't threatening anyone else's territory. Castiel wanted to survive at least his first night to see the look on Crowley's face when he came back, successfully making a metric butt-ton of money in just a two and a half hours.

One of the boys was thinner than the rest of them. He was an old friend of the other players, but he seemed to have a new habit the others didn't know about. Castiel watched them, and a junkie could spot a dealer a mile away, even if they looked as stand-upish and respectable as Castiel. When their game was over, the boy approached him with an unceremonious, "What are you selling?"

Castiel faked innocent, and insisted he was just here to enjoy the swing.

"Do you have any OC?" The boy asked, pathetic enough with his tone to let Castiel know without a doubt that he wasn't an undercover cop.

Castiel didn't know what that drug was, so he stayed silent. The boy joined him on the swing. He told some sob story about how he was a star athlete until he broke his back some six months ago at football camp. The doctors had prescribed and cut him off of Oxycodone in that time. It was a pain killer, one that was a synthetic opiate. It was half of the ingredients in Percocet. Castiel was sure it was the paracetamol in the Percs he was allergic to, since he seemed to have no adverse effect to heroin or morphine.

He wanted to try the Oxy. Maybe without the paracetamol he wouldn't get sick.

"How much does that go for?" Castiel asked.

"Like, eighty bucks sometimes," the boy rubbed the back of his head. "It's hard as shit to find in Lawrence."

Huh.

"I have a balloon of heroin. Even got an extra needle, I'll throw in free. Never been used. It's the real stuff, none of that shit manufactured in a lab," Castiel insisted. Though, perhaps not completely truthful. The body convert heroin to morphine, so some process led them to be created different.

"Heroin seems rough, man," the boy hesitated.

"I'm an honor student," Castiel offered. "Granted, I was never an athlete, but I've never had a problem with it. It hasn't messed me up."

Apparently selling drugs didn't constitute as being "messed up" in the kid's book because with that promise, he made the sale for another fifty. A balloon could last for two hits, so actually the boy was getting a way better than deal than one hit of Oxy for eighty.

At six, Crowley was probably was home. The younger boy decided to walk there before he tried Lucifer's Church. When he knocked on the window to the boy's house, he was met with a surprised look, but no formal words as he slipped into the basement.

Castiel stole Crowley's cigarette before he remembered that stuff like that wasn't supposed to happen between them anymore.

He was completely satisfied with a hundred dollars and a balloon of heroin. On his way over, he had sorted out the other two hundred and put it in a different pocket. Taking a drag of the cigarette, he fished out twice amount Crowley offered for his body and shoved it at the British teen.

He counted it with an alarmed look on his face. Castiel balanced the cigarette between his pointer and middle finger and blew out smoke away from Crowley. The older boy looked at him and asked, "Is this before or after your cut?"

Castiel took another drag, "After." He blew out and offered it back to Crowley. The older boy took it and put it to his lips but didn't breathe in, still focusing on the money in his hand. "So a junkie can't sell, right?" Castiel mocked.

Crowley slipped the two hundred dollars in the back pocket of his slacks. Even at six thirty, he wore a suit. His hand removed the cigarette from his mouth, but he didn't really look pleased and he wouldn't meet Castiel's eye.

"Sleep with me."

Castiel shook his head. He had a balloon of heroin in his pocket. He wanted to make it home and get high before he had to meet Dean in an hour. He wasn't sure where that fell on the whole, _"No because I'm in a relationship"_ scale, but whatever. A no was a no, right?

"I mean so little to you?" Crowley asked, offering the cigarette to the younger boy again. Really though, he was offering so much more. Castiel knew that. He could see that around him. If he were Crowley's boyfriend, and not Dean's, he wouldn't ever have to work for anything ever. That is, if the homophobe could ever publicly acknowledge him. But then again, it felt nice to get the money for Dean. He shook his head, and Crowley finished it off and flicked the butt out the window.

"You're a drug dealer, Crowley." Castiel sighed, his voice far softer than it needed to be – than it should have been for a situation like this.

"Yeah, but you… you hung out with me for a while, yeah? Dancing on the pole," the older boy rubbed a hand through his hair, like he was still trying to work the rejection out, but at least it seemed like it was actually sinking in this time that there wasn't a chance for a relapse. "I mean, for Christ's sakes, you had my dick in your mouth."

"But you never had mine in yours," Castiel snapped.

The silence was so loud that Castiel's ears hummed, trying to pick up a sound from somewhere. Never had he wished he could take anything back more. And certainly, never anything this significant. This would throw the mostly shut door wide open, and Castiel knew it.

Crowley probably was half high, because his eyebrows were furrowed together, like he was trying to figure out how that related. When he made the connection and how, exactly, he could remedy this stupid fight between them, he looked up with a dark smile. It caused Castiel's heart to clench in his chest and his breathing to catch in his throat.

He dug in his pants pocket and took two steps closer to the younger boy. He was well in Castiel's personal space, and he lifted up fifty dollars again. They were so close that Crowley's hand brushed against Castiel's chest.

"Fifty bucks, Castiel," Blue eyes narrowed and met brown. "I'll give you fifty bucks if you let me blow you."

Castiel gulped, and he saw the way Crowley smirked when he saw it. Not only did the door swing open, Castiel practically invited the British boy to tea.

"I gotta go," The younger boy was nearly scrambling out of the window, trying to put as much distance between him and Crowley as possible. It took him longer than usual to get out, being so frustrated and all, but when he was in the yard, he stormed off like a proper drama queen.

"The deal stands," Crowley yelled out after him, his annoyingly charming laugh present in his tone. "I'll pay you to let me blow you!"

Castiel looked around quickly as he walked. The other boy had yelled so loud that the neighbors might have been able to hear him. So there went the _no-because-he-won't-publicly-acknowledge-me_ clause. He couldn't see Crowley, but he shot a dirty look in his general direction and hissed, "You're a psychopath!"

"No, darling. I'm _your_ psychopath!"

Castiel heard Crowley's giant, maniacal, evil, sexy laughter echoing in his head the entire way back to his house. He stormed in and past Gabriel and Balthazar, who asked where he had been all night and informed him that Sam had already left, and slammed the bathroom door before locking it.

He started brushing his teeth with one hand – how in hell was going to explain the smoking to Dean if he could taste it on him? – and digging out his diabetic kit from his backpack with the other. He spit out the toothpaste and lit the candle. He had to pause from brushing as he tied on the tourniquet and mixed half the balloon on the spoon and cooked it, but returned to brushing as he waited for the drug to bubble. He spit again, washed out his mouth, and put his toothbrush away, before he pulled the top from the syringe, blowing out the candle.

His hands shook as he loaded the syringe up with the drug and tapped it to get the air out.

When he pushed the needle in his vein, he sighed. All of three seconds after he pushed the drug in, he could feel the effects. Castiel sank to the floor, pulling the needle from his arm. His eyelids fluttered shut, and he rested his head against the sink, barely able to hold himself up in a sitting position.

This was so much better than getting paid to get a blowjob from Crowley.

With every beat of his heart, the drug spread, sending his favorite high to every inch of his body. He could feel it in his fingers and toes. He should have shot up in his bedroom, though. Every second he spent in here was a second his brothers were aware of. He had to clean up and leave.

Rolling the foil back up, Castiel made sure it was secure before he put half of the unused drug back in his diabetic bag. He capped the needle and put it back it, too. Then the tourniquet, then the candle. He ran the spoon under the water, but the stain had long since been burnt on. He added that to the bag.

As he was zipping it up, he noticed the blood.

His arm moved itself up so his eyes could examine the injection sight. Drops of blood had spilled from the vein when he pulled the needle out. He forgot a cotton ball to add pressure. He'd forgotten to sanitize his vein before he stuck the needle in.

A smile formed, wide and beautiful, on Castiel's face when the track of blood dripped from his elbow to the floor. Before the next drop could spill, he caught it with a tongue, licked up the mess, and sucked the wound until it stopped bleeding.

Gabriel was knocking at the door, asking if he was okay. And really, there was only one answer to that. He opened the door and smiled at his little brother.

"Everything is perfect."

* * *

Dean left his phone open when he was at Bobby's shop. Usually his knuckles weren't covered in grease so if Sam texted him with some emergency he could hit the OK button with his knuckle to read it and the phone would be no worse for wear. At around seven, he heard the phone go off. Bobby was out front, taking care of some of the money business, so Dean figured it would be okay to check the message.

 **Sam:** Cas isn't back from Lucifer's den. I walked back alone. We have some hamburgers and tater tots. Want that for dinner?

Huh. That was strange. More than anyone he had ever met, Castiel was set in his habits. The younger boy told him he had an anxiety disorder, and that routine (along with medication – he was taking a pill for it at the time he told Dean about it) helped calm the anxiety. True, they'd only been together for a few weeks, but Castiel was nothing if not consistent. A play date with his brother all night was abnormal, but nothing to really worry about.

Right?

He replied with a simple "Y" to stand in for yes, because it was hard as shit to text with just his knuckles. Dean returned to the car he was working on.

Some twenty minutes later, he figured out what was wrong with the car. Bonus, a song he really dug came onto the classic rock station he had playing through Bobby's ancient radio. Sometimes Dean thought he was born in the wrong decade.

He was feeling pretty happy, despite Castiel being AWOL, so he let himself give in to the music a little bit. This song has made him think of Castiel lately, anyway. So why not self-indulge? When the refrain hit, he was singing it into the engine and shifting his weight from leg to leg in a style that he would call dancing but nobody else would.

" _Burn out the day, burn out the night. I can't see no reason to put up a fight,"_ Dean pulled himself from car, tapping his foot and lifting his hand. The other one coming to form a microphone at his mouth. _"I'm living for giving the devil his due!"_

He heard the chuckle before he realized someone was with him. His eyes shot open, but Castiel was already marching his way back to the car. When the guitar riff played, the younger boy had Dean by the hips, pinning him against the car, rocking against him with an innocent smile on his face.

"Do you burn for me, Dean?"

He felt the blush on his face, but was sure that wasn't what Castiel meant. Caught off guard, Dean could only gulp at the younger boy's display of dominance. Dean leaned in for a kiss, but Castiel dodged him, ducking his head to the older boy's neck and bit. Dean hissed, resting his forearms against Castiel's shoulders trying to nudge him away.

"What's with you?"

Castiel grinned, hair matted to his forehead. He looked pretty clean cut earlier in chemistry class, but in a manner of hours, he seemed to have grown stubble. "Lucifer gave me a job. I just finished, and I brought money to add to the jar you and Sam have."

"You don't have to do that, Cas. Keep your money."

The younger boy shook his head, rolled his hips against Dean's again, and kissed him. It took intense willpower from the older boy to push him away after he indulged for a few moments of course.

"I'm at work; we can't do this now," he breathed. Castiel pouted and Dean realized that he needed to spend a lot less time with Sam. He was picking up on his mannerisms and adding a whole new layer of sexy to them. "What's gotten in to you?" Dean repeated.

Castiel didn't remove himself, but Dean didn't exactly shove him away either. The younger boy scratched at his arm, at the inside of his elbow for a moment, before leaning into Dean once more. "I want you to fuck me."

"What?" Dean asked, breathless.

"Please, Dean. _Please._ " Castiel's hands traced from the older boy's hips to the collar of his shirt, where his hands gripped and he tried to pull him closer.

Dean had to close his eyes to refuse the begging boy before him. "You at least have to let me finish working, Jesus Christ."

The look on Castiel's face twisted into something indefinable, something Dean had never seen before. He was prepared to be scolded for his use of blasphemy. Instead, one hand creeped lower over Dean's torso, and the religious boy tilted his head to the side with a wicked smile on his face.

"No, I'm _Cas-tea-el_ ," the boy pronounced his own name slowly, in syllables, like a prophet or a saint or the fucking whore of Babylon.

Oh, fuck me. Dean though.

Before Dean could react to that gross, perverse, insanely sexy bit of sacrilege, he saw Bobby approaching through the window out of the corner of his eye. He managed to guide Castiel to the side, throwing his boyfriend a warning glance. When his employer entered the shop, it looked like Dean was explaining the finer points of mechanics to a friend. Instead of Dean gasping for breath, trying to think of baseball and the Pledge of Allegiance.

At least for his part, Castiel actually seemed interested in the car talk.

"Dean, you got that car sorted out yet?" Bobby asked, eyebrows frowning because Dean never had anyone other than Sam drop by the shop before, and he couldn't really tell what his employee was thinking at the moment. Did he want Bobby to leave him alone or throw the other boy out? They were pretty good at reading each other, but Dean wasn't even sure what he wanted. So Bobby never stood a chance.

"Yeah, um… Bobby, this is Castiel," oh, Jesus, if just saying the boy's name was going to send a shock of pleasure through his body for the rest of his life, God help him. "He's my… um…"

"Lab partner," Castiel offered. "I know he gets out of work at eight, but he's been talking up his Impala for _weeks_ and I thought if I stopped by he'd show me it. But this is interesting too."

Where the hell did the mute boy go? Shit, Castiel thought quickly on his feet, Dean thought. Which should have been a hint, but Dean was still too focused on appearing straight and normal to pay too much attention to Castiel's sudden change.

Bobby didn't look entirely convinced, the way he crossed his arms in front of him.

Dean checked the clock on the wall and nudged the other boy with his elbow, seemingly determined not to cover him in grease. "Cas, I still have twenty minutes here. You should go home – um, to my _house_ – and wait with Sam."

Castiel frowned a little bit, like he'd much rather stay here and torture Dean until his shift ended, but he put on a pleasant enough smile as he walked past Dean's employer. And at least he didn't radiate sexual energy anymore. When he walked out the door, he paused in the window and waved to Dean.

When Castiel finally left his sight, Dean leaned against the car he was working on and sighed.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" Bobby asked, trying to go for calm, but annoyance was slipping in. His arms were still crossed, and Dean looked up at the man thinking no. He really really did not want to tell Bobby what was going on.

"He's… uh… my chemistry lab partner," Dean offered.

Bobby frowned, but he went to the old fridge at the side of the shop and grabbed two beers. Bribing time! Dean smiled. There was no way he was giving Bobby anything about him and Castiel. No chance at all.

* * *

Sam was agitated – Castiel could feel as much – but he couldn't figure out why his boyfriend's younger brother was radiating frustration in waves. He didn't take his jacket off; his arm was a giant scab where he had shot up earlier. Castiel kicked off his shoes and followed the negative vibes to the kitchen.

The fifteen-year-old was dumping tatter tots from a white bag onto a cookie sheet. He turned and looked at Castiel, frowning when he saw who it was. The older boy frowned back, but joined him in the kitchen.

"Hello, Sam."

"Where were you?" The younger boy snipped, as if he were the jealous girlfriend who had been betrayed. Castiel kind of thought it was cute and he smiled.

"I visited Lucifer, you know that," Castiel said gently, watching as the younger boy let his anger slip as he shoved the food into the preheated oven. The smile on Castiel's face grew. He had only really been testing the waters on whether or not Sam liked his brother, but the very mention of his name seemed to provide the perfect alibi.

Sam didn't ask for further information, so Castiel supplied it free of charge this time.

"He seems well, considering. The Church is completely painted and swept. They're starting to raise money to fight his twin in some gang war – whatever." Castiel smiled and Sam shoved his hands into his pockets. He frowned, and the older boy guessed he was trying to decide if this was actually a positive or negative.

Instead of discussing the older Novak, Sam relaxed his shoulders and asked, "You wanna watch another episode of _Glee_ while we wait for Dean?"

"I would like that," Castiel admitted. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the 5 twenty dollar bills. "But first, could I have an envelope with my name on it in the fund jar?"

Sam shrugged, that seemed reasonable, and he grabbed Castiel an envelope while the older boy opened the coffee can. In small, neat letters, Castiel wrote his name before slipping the money in the envelope, then in the can. Sam whistled as the older boy put the coffee can back where it belonged.

"What?" Castiel asked.

"What do you have to do to make a hundred dollars in a couple of hours?"

Castiel deadpanned, "Sell drugs."

Sam studied him for three or four seconds before laughing, taking it as a joke. Castiel smiled, letting the younger boy lead him into the living room to watch their show.

When the oldest Winchester did walk in some fifteen minutes later, he frowned at the scene before him. Sam was laying on one couch, and Castiel was sitting on the other. They were watching the episode where Terri gave the kids the drugs to make them all jacked up for the mash-up competition.

"What do you mean you don't like any ship yet? You don't support Finchel?" Sam was practically yelling at Castiel, but the other boy looked like he didn't really care.

"The show wants us to support Finchel. It seems too easy to support that. They will end up together."

Dean rolled his eyes and ran upstairs to clean up. When he emerged a few minutes later, Sam was sitting up, frowning at Castiel like he kicked his favorite puppy. Surprisingly, the puppy pout did nothing to the older boy. He simply raised his eyebrows in frustration.

"I only mean to say that the music really touches me. The characters fall short. There isn't anyone I absolutely love," Castiel admitted.

"Well who do you like best?" Sam insisted.

Dean couldn't tell if Castiel was even thinking of an answer the way he looked at him and begged him to join him on the couch. The oldest boy sat down next to his boyfriend, sliding an arm over the younger boy's head. Castiel leaned instinctively into him.

"Define _like best_. Do you mean who is the most talented singer, or who I like overall, or the most attractive actor?"

Sam sighed, like he was sick of these hypothetical questions, but Dean knew he secretly loved it. The two of them were always playing at this game, trying to annoy each other with cryptic answers. Castiel was just really good at it without trying.

"Pick one character based on anything _– anything –_ you want. You don't even have to explain it. Who is your favorite?"

Castiel thought, before Dean felt his head rest against his side and he answered: "Mike Chang."

"Why Mike Chang?" Sam asked, completely bewildered with the older boy's answer.

"It was my understanding that I wouldn't have to explain."

Sam started in on a tirade about how Mike Chang was _barely even a character_ in this season, and _why would you pick him_ and _he can't sing_ and _how do you even know his name_ and on and on. Castiel countered by looking up at Dean with that same smile he had on his face that he had on earlier in the shop, and his hand fell to his thigh. The older boy held in a groan, but barely.

Dean was about to say something – anything – to get Castiel's attention off of his leg, but Sam beat him to it. With a huffy-bitchy sigh that the younger boy had patented years ago, he tried the original question from when Dean walked in again. "Well, if you don't sail a ship, at least what's your favorite name? Anyone, even if it's weird."

Castiel's hand remained on Dean's thigh but it stopped moving. His eyes stayed on Dean, practically screaming _I'm not done with you yet_ before he turned his head to look at Sam.

"What exactly is a ship name again?"

"Like, a pairing. So Finn and Rachel is Finchel. Or… um… Rachel and Quinn are Faberry because it's their last names," Sam explained, getting redder by the second, seemingly regretting the line of conversation.

When focused on something, Castiel gave his whole consciousness to it. His hand slipped lower, closer to his knee, and Dean sighed a breath of relief. Unfortunately, after a few seconds, Castiel grinned and turned his face back to Dean.

"Castean," The younger boy said, hand squeezing Dean's thigh again.

Luckily, Dean had something else to address that seemed more important than the beating of his heart. "Sammy, back me up but the dominate person is usually stated in the pairing first, right?"

"Um…" his brother mumbled, still not fully recovered from the response.

"Yeah, so it would be Deaniel… obviously."

Castiel's face fell at the name, eyebrows furrowing and eyes narrowing. Dean held his ground. Sam stared at the two of them, breaking up the fight before it could ever really be one.

"It would be _Destiel_ , you idiots," he sighed.

Castiel's devious grin spread further at the name, obviously approving. Dean approved too, but Castiel's smile was full of white teeth and it sent his cheeks into waves, not exactly dimples, but not exactly not dimples either.

Dean could only pray for mercy.

"Um, Sammy, when was the last time you checked on the tater tots? Are they almost done?" Dean asked, as he walked to the kitchen, starting the hamburgers, desperate to get away before things got out of hand.

Sam didn't answer. Instead, he was trying to act like he didn't notice the other boy's hungry eyes at his brother. He was trying to be polite – and honestly, it really really didn't bother him that Castiel was a boy – but it sort of was always awkward when someone made looks like that to anyone with a third wheel present. With Dean gone, Castiel's attention focused on the younger Winchester. When Sam looked over, he was thankful to see that the mischievous look was still there, but it was more friendly than sexual.

"What?" Sam huffed, but with less venom than he intended. Castiel was his friend, too, after all.

The smile grew and twisted at the edges like the Grinch. Castiel's voice dropped lower, both in pitch and in volume. "My second favorite pairing is _Samifer_."

When Dean returned a minute later, Sam was staring angrily at the TV doing a really great impression of a tomato. Castiel was grinning like an insane person.

"Aw, I missed a joke?" Dean whined, taking his seat by his boyfriend once more. This time, the younger boy actually focused on the show, and Dean sighed a breath of relief.

It didn't last long. In a matter of minutes, Terri gave the drugs to the boys, Finn started tweaking and they performed their mash-up of _It's My Life_ and _Confessions._

Suddenly, Castiel said, "That's why I like Mike Chang. I like dancers."

The party came flooding back to Dean, or at least images of Castiel dancing. The way he would move like liquid with the girls, the way he would grind up on Dean, and the way he slipped him the pills at the start of the evening.

"Is that what pseudo-epinephrine is really like, do you think?" Dean asked. Sam either didn't think the question was weird or was still too angry at Castiel to speak to either of them, because he ignored his brother.

Castiel laughed. " _Pseudoephedrine_. Epinephrine is another name for adrenaline. Ephedrine is an amphetamine commonly used as a decongestant."

Sam turned and looked at Castiel, before shooting Dean a look that the older boy could only be interpreted as _how the hell does he know all that?_

Dean wished he knew.

"But to answer your question, pseudoephedrine affects everyone differently. I have never experienced a rush like Finn from that particular over-the-counter drug, but I have also never taken it without being sick." Castiel's eyes left the screen to catch Dean's. He was begging the older boy to read into what he was saying, but Dean wasn't exactly sure what he meant other than they hadn't taken that drug at the party.

They were silent for a few seconds before Sam left to check on their food.

"What was that high more like, if not pseudo-whatever?" Dean asked, officially asking what he had taken at that party weeks ago.

"Adderall," Castiel admitted, leaving out the fact that had given him some ecstasy too. He would tell Dean if he asked, but he hoped he wouldn't. "I have a prescription for ADD," Castiel added truthfully, though not so completely accurately.

The older boy made a displeased noise in his throat, but didn't vocalize his feelings about learning the identity of (one of) the drug(s). Castiel felt a little guilty about lying, but he did it to protect the older boy. He would be angry if he knew his friend had slipped him a hard drug like ecstasy. And that would lead to questions about where he got it and how often he took it.

So he was protecting himself too. And their relationship.

"I… um… also have a prescription for Xanax to treat my social anxiety," Castiel looked down, almost like he was embarrassed. "I've been on them for a year or so, but the Adderall is a more recent development."

Dean's hand tucked some hair behind Castiel's ear. It didn't stay, so he tried again. "Hey, whatever you gotta put in you to make it through the day, I can respect that."

The younger boy swallowed hard. He didn't need the drugs. Well, he did now, but he didn't when he went on them. He abused his prescriptions. He abused harder drugs. Without the heroin still pumping through his veins and dulling his thoughts, he doubted he would offer to tell Dean about any of this.

Castiel opened his mouth to confess. To tell Dean everything. But that wasn't what came out.

"I'm sorry I gave you the drug without your permission, Dean," Castiel offered.

The older boy surprised him by smiling. "Hey, I wasn't being a fun drunk – like you said – and who knows. Maybe we wouldn't have kissed if you hadn't slipped me some roofies. In the end it was win-win."

"They weren't roofies. Roofies are potent sedatives and muscle relaxants. Amphetamines are the opposite of flunitrazepam," Castiel frowned.

Dean ran a hand through Castiel's hair, grinning, "It's really sexy when you nerd out."

Before Castiel could determine whether or not Dean was being sarcastic and mocking him, Sam called from the kitchen that the burgers were done.

* * *

Alistair and Azazel stopped by Lucifer's Church on Friday. It wasn't really a surprise to anyone. The three of them went way back and once the actual grunt work of fixing up a club house was over, the pair were always willing to put their two-cents in.

Crowley hated them more than he hated Lucifer.

Alistair and Azazel were standing in front of the TV. Lucifer and Ruby were sitting in front of it, where they had been playing their guitar game. Their backs were to Crowley, so he couldn't see what his cohorts were thinking about this plan of theirs, but he figured they just wanted to get on with the game.

Actually, the premise wasn't a bad one. Alistair wanted to set up a fight club that was less of a fight club and more of an illegal boxing match where anything goes. Two underclassmen go into the ring. They'd fight until one knocked out the other or one tapped out. Then they'd leave. The audience could place bets on which underclassmen they thought would be victorious.

There were quite a few underclassmen Crowley would pay to see in the ring.

"Just think of the promise," Alistair pitched, his voice spooky as ever. "We could run it like some sort of league. Each of us would be an owner of a kid, we'd train them, people would place bets… we could raise a fortune."

Lucifer sighed, exacerbated, and laid down on his back on the floor. Upside-down, he shot a look at Crowley, wondering what he was thinking.

"See, boys. We're starting a gang," Crowley walked forward, stepping nearer to his figurehead. "Personal gain goes against our ideology. So the _owners_ of the kids wouldn't make any more than bragging rights, unless he bet on his kid, of course."

Alistair hadn't been smiling before, but his face fell slightly at the other boy's intrusion. "Oh, sorry I wasn't speaking to you directly, Crowley, but aren't you the King of the Crossroads? Your department is drugs. My _specialty_ is entertainment."

"Entertainment? Is that what we call one bed-wetting incident away from completing the serial killer's Holy Trinity?" Crowley touched his hand to his face, as if he were thinking. "When, exactly, was the last time you wet the bed?"

Alistair gritted his teeth. "I will cut that pretty tongue right from your mouth."

"Hey, well… hey!" Azazel spoke up, stepping forward so his friend could see him. Somehow, the golden eyed boy was the kryptonite to Alistair's rage. "The thing is we're all working for _Lucifer_ , right? So we're all on the same team and we all have the same goal."

Lucifer sat up. "Very well put, Azazel."

"I want to find the kids we use to fight," he added.

Lucifer sighed, laying back down. Ruby was leaning closer to him, supporting her weight with one arm as she placed a hand on his stomach, and he turned his attention to her. The two of them were bizarre to watch interact. She loved him so completely and he used every inch she gave him. She didn't seem to mind.

She pushed his shirt up a little bit, and her fingers danced over his bare skin. His eyes fluttered shut, like a giant, furless cat.

After spending the last two weeks hanging out with the pairing, though, Crowley felt like he was starting to learn how in sync they were with each other. They could communicate a big elaborate plan without words. Crowley stopped playing anything with them if they were partners after the third round of Bridge their first night.

The British teen's eyes shifted to Alistair.

The other boy was frowning at the pair on the floor like the affection disgusted him. But perhaps it wasn't the affection – Crowley had seen Alistair be affectionate to Azazel on the rare occasion, though it always expressed itself in gifts like a dog bringing a dead squirrel home to the family – it was Lucifer's submission that confused the sadistic teen. He viewed everything in terms of power. Seeing as Lucifer dominated the school, it seemed strange to the psychopath that he would ever be on his back, under a woman no less.

It startled him just enough to shut him up which is exactly what Lucifer wanted.

His eyelids opened a little bit, and his eyes looked a deeper shade of blue – a shade similar to his younger brother's – and Alistair squirmed under the gaze.

"We are a gang because our primary focus is obtaining turf. That is our directive. Our enemy is Michael. I want every single member of his wayward flock under my control. I want every student in the school to fall into my palm. Preferably, I'd like to do it with them thinking that I'm the good guy and Michael's the bad guy." His eyes opened a little wider – Ruby had stopped rubbing his stomach.

Ruby added, "To do this, we need money. We're going to raise money and open a club downtown. We need to introduce a little sin to Lawrence, and alcohol, drugs, and women are a great gateway."

"So, Alistair," Lucifer continued. "If you think that your fight club will raise money while sticking it to Michael, you can be the officer in charge of sadistic torture of minors. However, if I find you are holding back profits from our gang, we will throw you into ring with all of the fighters."

Alistair nodded, "Anything for you."

Lucifer sat up again, shooing the pair from in front of the TV. "Well, Azazel. Go mark your soldiers for your kid army."

* * *

Sam wasn't the first contestant marked, but he had been Azazel's favorite.

The younger boy was in gym class. Azazel had lunch so he figured he'd go to the track to see if he could spot any talent. They were supposed to run the mile today for fitness week. The point was to track the kids' progress twice a year – once at the beginning and once at the end – and see how they progressed over the year.

Mostly, everyone took it as a joke.

Azazel watched the gym class walking to the track from the bleachers. He was the only creep watching the class, but it was typical for seniors to eat their lunch outside, so nobody really thought anything of it.

Somewhere toward the middle of the pack, Azazel saw Lucifer walking with Crowley and Castiel. He was genuinely surprised to see both of the younger boys dressed for gym. Castiel had his sugar disease and tried to skip out, and Azazel had never seen the British boy without a suit on. It was bizarre seeing the pair in shorts. It was more bizarre watching the two of them laughing like Lucifer was some stand-up comedian.

Weren't those two in charge of the drugs? And Lucifer told Alistair not to smoke away their profits.

The trio split at the starting line. The boys were running first, so Lucifer took a spot at the front – where he would likely finish – and Crowley and Castiel stayed toward the back. The leader of the gang pushed the buds in his ears, hit play, and started running when the coach gave the signal.

The pack evened out quickly between the walkers and the runners.

Lucifer took and maintained first effortlessly. It was almost boring to watch, until Azazel noticed the smaller boy some ten feet behind the leader, matching his pace. The freshman – the younger Winchester, Azazel recognized – clenched an iPod in his hand and kept his face down. To say he matched Lucifer's pace would actually be unfair. He watched the older boy's feet and was able to duplicate his stride.

And that was amazing, considering Lucifer was over six foot tall and Sam was barely five-five.

Azazel knew that running wasn't as simple as finding a target and focusing. To keep up with six-minute mile (Lucifer used to be faster before he took up smoking, but how many smokers could say they could run a six-minute mile, anyway?), the kid had to already be a runner. Typically, kids don't just walk off the bus and decide to keep pace; there were plenty of kids on the track who were trying and just not succeeding.

Sam had drive and endurance. And although the younger boy kept his face blank and calm, he was running with purpose. His complete focus was on Lucifer, like he wanted to beat him. Which, whatever, usually people in second want to be the person in first, but there was something else about this. It was Lucifer. It was like Sam was pissed at him or something.

All the more reason to enlist him. It would add fire to his workouts.

Around the second lap, the older boy realized he couldn't shake the shadow. He pulled his headphones from his ears and shoved them in his pockets. The fumbling should have let Sam close the gap, but the younger boy matched his pace, staying equally behind him as he always had.

He didn't want to risk turning around and looking to see who his shadow was.

When he was a quarter complete with his final lap, he was approaching Crowley and Castiel for the second time – the dealers were walking along together. Lucifer wasted precious air yelling, "Who's behind me?"

The younger boys looked back, and as Lucifer ran passed, Castiel told him. While Azazel couldn't hear what the younger Novak said, he did see the way Lucifer reacted. He leaned forward and picked up his pace. Sam, surprised by the change, stumbled slightly before racing after him.

Castiel and Crowley walked back to the start of the track to watch the finish. The coach, alternating his gaze between his watch and the two boys, didn't even tell them to get back out there.

Both boys were running like bats out of hell. It looked like the beginning of one of Alistair's scary porns where some guy was chasing a girl to rape her. Lucifer was giving everything to get away, and Sam was giving more to catch him.

Azazel was surprised that when they were close enough, Sam didn't tackle the older boy; it really looked like they were running with that much intent.

Somehow, when rounding the final corner, Sam pulled even.

The younger boy's focus went to the finish line. And Lucifer's focus drifted, for a fraction of a second, to his opponent.

And that was why he lost.

The loss wasn't by more than a fraction of a second, but it was still a loss. When the younger boy crossed the finish line, he slowed to a walk. His hands were at his hips, but he beelined to Castiel. Sam shoved the iPod at him with a quick "thanks," but waved his arm, dismissing a response from his friend.

Lucifer walked after him, and Azazel couldn't tell if he was more shocked or pissed off. But whatever he had to say would have to wait. The golden-eyed boy descended the bleachers two at a time, gripping Sam by the bicep with one hand, handing him a punch-flavored Gatorade with the other.

He led him over to the bleachers, but Sam shook his head, "I've gotta stretch out or I'll cramp," and Azazel could appreciate the boy's commitment.

"No!"

Both Azazel and Sam turned around. Lucifer was approaching them. He didn't look like a man who just ran a mile. He was rejuvenated, coming at them with his fist already half raised. Behind him, his friend and brother rushed to his side, each gripping an arm and holding him back. He tried to break free, but when he couldn't he yelled out again. "Azazel, no!"

Azazel placed one hand between Sam's shoulder blades and guided him away where they could talk in private. Before Sam turned around, he tipped his head back and took a drink of the red liquid Azazel had given him.

Lucifer let out a weak groan, somewhere between pained and frustrated, and let Crowley and Castiel drag him back toward the school.

* * *

Even though Castiel was actually getting high at more frequent intervals with harder drugs, he liked the buzz he got from Dean mostly sober. Some (read: most) nights, he couldn't help but take, snort, smoke, or shoot up. But he tried to have nights like this, too, where he could be content to lay next to Dean on the bed with a chemistry or algebra book between them and just a Xanax wearing out from earlier in the day in him to keep the withdrawal at bay.

Castiel loved the way Dean's eyebrows fell when he was concentrating on something just beyond his ability to figure out himself. He would struggle and try, sometimes making three or four attempts at something before Castiel would offer insight, just a moment before Dean would give up. The gears would start twisting again, and Castiel loved how Dean chewed on his pen when he was thinking.

For his part, Dean taught Castiel about the relevant pop culture that he felt Castiel lacked. The younger boy knew of Queen, but he couldn't name a single Metallica song (other than Enter Sandman and "that one in the beginning of Zombieland"). Castiel had seen all sorts of weird, obscure shows, but he had never seen Dexter or Dr. Sexy, MD. He didn't watch Family Guy. Those were all crimes punishable by death to Dean.

Some nights, Castiel would be almost asleep with his back resting against Dean's chest when the older boy would startle him awake by how hard he laughed at some non-sequitur spurred on by Peter Griffin saying, "Just like the time when..."

When Dean would walk Castiel home at night, he would grip his hand and tell him stories about when the Winchester brothers would watch movies together when their dad was gone and how Sam would get scared. Sam would sneak into Dean's bed and curl up next to him thinking his older brother was asleep. Dean would rub his back, not saying anything until the shaking stopped and Sam's breath felt deep against his neck.

And Castiel was happy. So happy, in fact, that when he would check his phone when Dean was in the bathroom or getting something to eat, Crowley's propositions turned into a game. He was never going to say yes to Crowley.

Because he never wanted to be with anyone other than Dean.

So when Dean declared victory over a problem and decided he needed a victory snack, Castiel reached for his phone. He only had one new message from Crowley, but it was a dozy: _"I want to fuck you hard; I want to feel you deep. I want to rock your body; I want to taste you, sweet."_

Luckily, Castiel had plenty of knowledge about rave music.

 **Castiel:** Blood on the Dance Floor featuring Jeffree Star. You're going to have to do better than that.

 **Crowley:** how the fuck did you know that song? that had to be the strangest thing on my phone. anyway, see you in ten mins. yeah?

Castiel smiled because honestly, that little spot in his brain that had thought about taking Crowley up on his offer was gone. And besides the incriminating text messages that would be very inappropriate if ever found, he was actually growing fond of his dealer turned boss. And besides the constantly propositioning for sex, he was Castiel's best friend outside of the Winchesters and Lucifer. Even Crowley's attempts at getting him to sleep with him seemed like a long-running inside joke. Castiel doubted he was serious about it anymore.

Dean walked in a few moments later with a bowl of popcorn. He hopped on his bed and reached into his jacket pocket. With a grin, he pulled out a Cosmic Brownie and extended it to Castiel. The younger boy took it and ripped the package. Dean watched as Castiel picked the sprinkles off the Little Debby snack before taking a bite of the chocolate.

"You and them Stoner Brownies, man," Dean grinned.

Castiel smiled back. "It's what I imagine crack to be like."

Dean just laughed, the way he always did when Castiel mentioned drugs, and shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth. The younger boy pushed his phone back in his pocket before leaning over Dean to check the problem.

* * *

When Sam showed up at the Church for training, Lucifer was on his knees in front of a rosebush. The younger Winchester ran this way all summer long and didn't have any memory of such a beautiful sight. He had to guess that the buds were a new addition.

Sam wasn't sure if he should say anything. They still hadn't spoken directly to one another since the party. But how could he walk into Lucifer's place of residence without making some sort of nicety at the door?

Lucifer must have sensed someone was behind him, because he turned around. His shoulder's tensed for a brief moment, before formality set in. "Hi, Sam."

"Hey, Lucifer," the older boy shut his eyes, looking down. As if hearing his name from the other boy's lips brought him great pain. Sam shifted his backpack on his shoulder, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"I just come out here to think, sometimes," Lucifer said, ignoring the question. He turned back to the roses, running a finger over one of the small petals. "It gets noisy in there when Alistair has his trainees over. And it's not like I have a place to go home to, unlike everyone else."

Sam walked closer, casting a shadow over the boy on his knees, but stopping short of actually touching him. Like a child being scolded, Lucifer looked up. His fingers fell from the petal to one of the thorns; Sam watched him scrape a line into his thumb, but the older boy didn't seem to notice the blood swelling from the cut.

"I'm sorry I got you kicked out of your house. I'm sorry I got your arm broken."

Lucifer stopped scratching at his thumb. The sadness melted from his face as confusion took hold like he never once thought that it was Sam's fault that Michael hurt him, betrayed him, and casted him out.

"You have nothing to apologize for. You didn't do anything wrong… it's my fault. And I'm really sorry for what I did to you that night."

"What?" Sam asked, confused. "What did you do?"

"I brought you there among the filth. I forced you to drink, and then I…" Lucifer looked down again. His thumb scraped across the thorn. "You should be relieved Michael showed up when he did."

"You don't know anything about me," Sam snapped.

He turned to walk away, but Lucifer reacted faster. His right hand reached for Sam's. The younger boy let him turn his wrist over. The name was gone, the lines were gone, but the star was still there. It wasn't the same ink, but it was the same star, traced over with new sharpie, keeping it alive.

Lucifer looked up at Sam.

"You are the light bearer, Lucifer. You need to believe in yourself if you want others to believe in you."

The older boy nodded before his eyes dropped back to their hands and their star. He placed his thumb in the very center of the shape.

"Hey, Winchester!" Sam looked at the side door where Ruby was standing. She could see half of Sam, but the building wall shielded Lucifer from her. She hadn't seen their display. Lucifer sighed and dropped his hand back to his lap. "Everyone's paired up but you and me, so it looks like I'm your new trainer. So get your ass in here."

Sam looked back down at Lucifer. On his cast, he had a star drawn on the underside of his wrist. He placed his thumb into the center of that star, too. Sam looked down at his own wrist.

He had been marked by Lucifer in his own blood.

The very idea sent tingles down Sam's spine.

Ruby yelled to Sam, and he had to run off and join her. The first thing she did was to tie a white belt – like a karate kind of belt – around his waist. "Michael gives his followers black leather bracelets. So our color is white," she explained. "You don't always need to wear this, but you should always be wearing something white. To set us apart from Michael's Angels."

Huh. Not even Michael had reached that name.

"Does that make us Demons?" Sam asked.

"Are you kidding? We have Mister Crowley on our side. We would have been Demons even if Michael wasn't spouting out all that holy crap like he's so much more virtuous than us."

Sam decided not to point out that, despite a few lapses of judgment when it came to his twin brother, Michael was actually doing a lot of good for a lot of people.

"Alright, so before I start to train you… I gotta test you and see where you're at."

Sam remembered dancing with Ruby at the party and how kind she had been to him because he was marked as Lucifer's. Every day at lunch, she flirted with him and touched him. Today, she was his trainer. She had him doing push-ups until his arms were sore and sit-ups until his stomach burned. All the while shouting insults at him.

Even Azazel told her that she should cool it after an hour of torture.

"It's called tough love, stupid," she spit at him. "And my Sammy will be the best."

Sam took the moment of descent among the troops to rest. He brought his chest to the floor and folded his arms to rest his head on. The side door to the church opened. The sun was setting, and it blinded Sam until a silhouette stepped in front of it.

When the door shut, Lucifer had two roses in his hand. He smiled at Sam before walking downstairs where his room was.

"Did I tell you to stop, maggot?" Ruby yelled.

With new energy, Sam pushed himself up.

* * *

When Dean was walking home from work on Thursday, October 11th, almost three weeks since the Senior Sign In where he and Castiel kissed, Dean realized that John hadn't been home to collect his check for October.

Not that they actually needed the money for once. For the past week Castiel had been working for Lucifer and his contribution to their savings was single-handedly keeping them afloat. He hadn't come home with a hundred since the first night, but in the two nights he had worked since then, he'd come home with over seventy-five dollars.

Dean wasn't sure what type of con Castiel was pulling for Lucifer, but he knew it wasn't completely moral if it was legal at all (which he sort of doubted). There was no way a teenager could make seventy-five dollars in one night and have it be legitimate. Dean's biggest payouts came from hustling pool. He liked to think Castiel played piano at fancy dinner parties. It helped him sleep at night.

He sort of wondered (read: he really fucking wanted to know) what Castiel did to get the money, but Dean wasn't going to get all bitchy and girly and demand answers. Besides, who was Dean to judge? Castiel had never asked anything of him: he hadn't asked about John or their mother, he hadn't asked about how many women he'd been with in the past, and he hadn't asked Dean if he loved him.

And Dean definitely would not just supply the answer to that information. But the more Castiel opened up and talked about his family and how fucked up they all were, the more he helped Dean with his homework, and the more time he spent around Sam – treating him like an equal and not just the annoying little brother that wouldn't go to bed so they could mess around – the more Dean could feel himself getting… emotionally invested in Castiel.

He wouldn't fucking say he loved him, because he wasn't that kind of guy, damn it.

But yeah, he kind of thought he did.

And maybe that was why Dean didn't press for answers about what Castiel did for Lucifer. He would tell him when he was ready. The least Dean could do for all Castiel has done for him and Sam was to give him space.

When the older Winchester walked into his front door, he nearly collided with Castiel. The first thing Dean noticed was the white specks of flour in his dark hair. The second thing Dean noticed was the slice of apple pie the younger boy had on a plate in his hands.

"I made a hundred dollars again today," Castiel said with the same level of pride in his voice that a typical third grader used when he told the story of how he won a spelling bee. "So I asked Sam to show me how to make apple pie because it is your favorite."

Dean didn't reach for the pie or the pie bearer – he was covered in grease from work – but he felt like time slowed down. This picture perfect moment of domestic bliss needed to be committed to memory. Dean in the role of husband, getting home from work. Castiel in the role of wife, bringing him pie like a fifties house wife brought a drink. Sam in the role of the housekeeper, washing the dishes as he was now because honestly, Dean couldn't imagine a life where Sam wasn't at Dean's house constantly. It was perfect.

In his head, Dean swore to God he was going to play off the whole thing by joking _Marry Me._ What came out of his lips was far more honest.

"I love you."

So much for all that shit about no chick-flick moments.

Dean expected Castiel to at least falter, but his smile just grew. His hair was still sticking up, and his eyes were bright. He didn't look overly medicated for once. And the smile on his face was genuine. The blush that tinted his cheeks couldn't be faked.

"I love you, too, Dean."

And he said it like he had always loved him, like there was never a doubt, like that story Castiel loved to tell him to lull him to sleep about Plato's soul-mates was true – two halves made whole. Dean leaned in, wrapping his arm around Castiel to pull him in with the crook of his elbow, careful to avoid getting the other boy dirty with grease. Dean could feel Castiel's smile on his lips.

And you know what, so what that their dad was AWOL right now. Dean's life was pretty friggin sweet.

* * *

Two weeks passed in a blaze of normalcy. Well, for Lucifer's current definition of normalcy. He'd get to the Church after school and within an hour it would be filled with underclassmen getting yelled at to do more push-ups or sit-ups or whatever sadistic torture Alistair and the coaches would come up with. Sam was always red-faced from the effort, in his own special hell with Ruby.

Sometimes Lucifer would watch, but watching Ruby run through the good-cop-bad-cop routine was hard. Sometimes she'd be pulling him to his feet, pressing her body against him, kissing his neck and whispering his praise. Moments later he'd be doing push-ups again as she kicked his arm out from under him. Lucifer would always catch glimpses of the black star. But, whatever Sam kept on his wrist was his business – he was still only fifteen. Lucifer didn't trust his thoughts. They'd get him in trouble.

Sometimes, he would sit in a chair where he could see the training in front of him and Castiel and Crowley through the opening to the kitchen. The dealer and the runner, for hating each other twenty days ago, really were thick as thieves now. Castiel would sit on the island as Crowley dug through their supply, fishing out whatever he would be selling today. On occasion, Lucifer would join them, laughing until his sides were sore. And once, last week, when he was starting to feel the need to take up a blade and harm himself, his brother and friend dragged him out back and taught him how to roll a joint.

The three of them took turns passing it back and forth while Crowley told a story about a girl he fucked on a balcony in Paris last November, and Castiel told them about the time Dean and Sam and Gabriel surprised him by moving his keyboard from his bedroom to the Winchester house, where he spent every moment he wasn't sleeping, in school, or selling drugs. He snuck back every weekday as late as he dared, just so Michael would see he was home in the morning.

And the combination of the drugs and the company did help.

It was always so busy inside the Church. Especially now that the first rounds of fights were coming up just after Halloween. Crowley got his dad to sign off on some warehouse on the outskirts of town and Meg and Lilith were cleaning it up to make it into the club. Their gateway to sin was starting to take shape.

It was on a very rare occasion that nobody was using the Church for a meeting that Balthazar showed up, wanting in. He didn't really give a reason, but kept mentioning Bela. Lucifer guessed that Michael found out his younger brother was boning his girlfriend and told him to stop it.

Besides, if Lucifer remembered from his childhood, Balthazar had a very unique skill set for acquiring things and forging things he couldn't get elsewhere.

"Do you still have a collection of weapons?" Lucifer smiled.

Balthazar nodded. "And believe me, brother, my possessions have only grown."

"Well then," Lucifer stood, offering his hand to Balthazar. "How would you like to be our angelic spy in addition to our arms dealer?"

The younger Novak frowned, arms crossed. "If our older brothers are angels, I don't want to be in Heaven anymore. I want to destroy Michael."

Lucifer let his hand fall to his brother's shoulder. Even though he sat next to him in lunch every day, it had been almost four weeks since he had stood next to him. In two weeks, Lucifer would get his cast off. Time was flying. And in almost a month, Balthazar had grown.

Lucifer remembered his brother being shorter than Castiel, but taller than Gabriel. With his hand on his shoulder, he realized he was at least as tall as Castiel now. One month, and he'd grown four inches.

The older Novak knew he was missing out on his brothers' childhoods.

"You need to stay home, Balthazar," Lucifer sighed. "I barely have enough money to eat – I can't support you too."

The younger boy frowned, huffing up a little bit as if he took it personally.

"That's not to say I don't want you here on my side. But you need a proper roof over your head, even if it's just for sleeping and eating. You're welcome here any time," Lucifer squeezed his brother's shoulder. "But you need to watch out for Gabriel."

Balthazar was still frowning, but his eyes softened. "I'm not my brother's keeper."

The older brother smiled, but his eyes were sad. "Don't you remember the story of Cain and Abel, Balthy? After Cain kills his brother, he asks God whether or not he was his brother's keeper. Do you remember what God said to him?"

Balthazar looked down, "He says, _'What have you done? Listen! Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground.'_ "

"So?" Lucifer asked.

"He doesn't really state it, but the answer is still there. I am my brother's keeper," Balthazar sighed. "But you're my keeper, too, Lucifer."

"I am," In a small display of affection that was rare among the Novaks, Lucifer put his hand under his brother's chin and lifted his face so he could look him in the eye. "What is best for you right now is to stay living at home. My offer stands. You will be our official arms dealer if you want it. But you need to return to Michael and play nice with him. He's only looking out for you when he tells you to do something."

"Like how he was looking out for you when he did that?" Balthazar gestured to his brother's cast. He regretted it the moment he said it. The hurt and anguish flew into Lucifer's eyes at Michael's betrayal, and for a moment, he was taken over by rage.

Lucifer gained control and broke contact from his brother. "Michael would never hurt you or Castiel or Gabriel. Ever."

Balthazar nodded – though he wasn't completely convinced – and told Lucifer he would be his arms dealer. He'd show up after school tomorrow to see what was needed of him. He shook his brother's hand and made it halfway to the door before Lucifer called to him.

"Balthazar," Lucifer said, looking down into his open palms. "If Michael ever touches any of the three of you, you come to me." He lifted up his head, and Balthazar was surprised by the coldness in his brother's eyes. "If he does, I will rip his lungs out."

* * *

Even though Halloween was on a Wednesday, Crowley insisted on throwing a party for the loyal members of the Demon gang. He had formally invited everyone on Monday, making the announcement including the underclassmen training as fighters.

In all honesty, Castiel wasn't planning on going. Halloween made him think of the year he went Trick-or-Treating as Woody from _Toy Story_ and Balthazar was Buzz Lightyear. He was five, and he remembered Michael and Lucifer fighting over who got to be Han Solo and who had to settle for Luke Skywalker, but he didn't remember who ultimately won that fight.

Castiel didn't remember actually trick or treating, but he remembered sitting down on the floor with a bag full of candy in front of him with the rest of his brothers. Their father sat down in his armchair to tell them a spooky story while their mom took a bath.

He remembered Gabriel dressed as Simba. At two he could walk, but he wasn't talking much yet. The costume made him fumble and he crashed into Zachariah's lap. The eldest brother, who couldn't be much more than ten, sat his brother down and fed him small globs of a Three Musketeers bar.

Uriel laughed, big and deep in his stomach, at the joy on his youngest brother's face at the candy. Raphael called him a mud monkey and told him to shut up.

When the commotion calmed down, their father leaned forward and told his sons the story of Samhain.

There is probably a safe age – perhaps Balthazar at four – where a kid was too young to understand. There was certainly a better age – perhaps Michael and Lucifer at six – where a kid was too old to believe. But at five, Castiel was hanging on every word of the story. His red cowboy hat was abandoned on the floor, and he remembered scooting closer to Uriel until he was sitting in the older boy's lap.

For once, Uriel didn't have a joke mocking the baby behavior. He just wrapped his arms around Castiel and put his chin on the top of his brother's head.

For some reason, even twelve years later, Castiel couldn't shake the Samhain story. It seemed sacrilegious to celebrate the pagan holiday at all, but the transformation from what it used to be scared him even more.

But as Sam and Castiel walked to the Winchesters' house, the younger boy was begging Castiel to convince Dean to let him go.

And Castiel was seriously not high enough to say no to Sam's puppy eyes.

He waited until they were curled around each other in bed before he brought up the topic. He ran his hand over Dean's bare stomach and propped his head up on one arm, looking down at his boyfriend. "Crowley's having a Halloween party. Do you want to go?"

Dean shrugged with his eyes closed. He licked his lips and arched his back a little, trying to tempt Castiel's hand further south.

The younger boy's fingers danced over the skin just above his underwear. "We should bring Sam."

Dean made a noncommittal sound in his throat, and Castiel pushed the material, and Dean lifted his hips to help Castiel get it off. His boyfriend hissed when he felt Castiel run his palm over the sensitive flesh, and younger boy tried again. "Gabriel and Balthazar will be there. We shouldn't leave him alone here all night on Halloween."

"Why are you talking about our brothers right now?" Dean's voice was lower than usual, and Castiel knew that it was a polite way of saying _'shut up and blow me'_ but the thought of the bitchface Sam would give him in the morning if he didn't get an affirmative from Dean was enough to get Castiel to press on.

"Teenagers often do things behind their parents' backs. If you do not show Sam the proper way to handle himself at a party, who knows what could happen to him," Before Dean could react, Castiel ducked his head, following his fist with his tongue on an upstroke before taking Dean in his mouth.

Dean's hand came to tangle in Castiel's hair, a primitive moan came instinctively from the older boy as he groaned, "Oh, yeah, Cas."

"Yeah?" Castiel grinned, sitting himself up again. "Sam can come?"

"What?" Dean asked, eyes shooting half open.

"Sam can come with us to Crowley's party?"

Dean growled a little at having to abandon his pleasure for cognitive thought. "Sam doesn't need to go. The last thing he needs is to drink. If he doesn't know what he's missing, he won't get addicted. Preach abstinence, Cas! Purity rings and the like."

The older boy knew when his boyfriend frowned that he said the wrong thing. In one second, Castiel was sitting, pushing himself up and off the bed, lifting his shirt in his hand.

"Aw, Cas. I didn't mean us. We're consenting adults!"

"Actually, I'm seventeen. That may be over the consent age, but it doesn't make me an adult. I can't gamble or buy cigarettes. I should practice what I preach, then. Huh?"

It was a game of chicken that neither boy really wanted to lose. Ultimately, it was the naked boy on the bed who gave in with a sigh, begging his boyfriend to come back and join him with a, "Fine, Sam can come, too. But don't take any of your prescription drugs this time. Alcohol really is awesome if you give it a chance."

If Dean was annoyed at the argument, he didn't let on. Especially the way he writhed and moaned under Castiel for the better part of an hour.

But when Wednesday came and the immediate threat of Castiel leaving with _unfinished business_ wasn't weighing on his mind, Dean was starting to regret his decision to let Sam come. The younger boy was about seventeen levels of disturbing, puppy-level excited, which normally made Dean happy, but the thought of his younger brother drinking sent a pit to his stomach. He knew how his dad was with alcohol. He knew how _he_ was with alcohol.

At fifteen, Sam shouldn't spend most of his day hoping for a fix by the end of the night.

The three of them walked to Crowley's house amongst the younger Trick-or-Treaters around 7:30. Besides their heights, they mostly blended in. Dean was dressed as either a pilot from Top Gun, Fonzi from _Happy Days_ , or a Greaser from _The Outsiders_. He hadn't quite decided yet. Sam insisted that jeans with a white t-shirt and leather jacket weren't different enough from his normal attire to really constitute as a costume, but Dean ignored him. Castiel was in a suit, tie, and jacket with his tan trench coat. Sam insisted he wasn't wearing a costume either, to which Castiel replied, "I'm Constantine. John Constantine, asshole."

Sam had been searching thrift stores for the past few days for a purple jacket to be the Joker, to which Dean joked, "That was so five years ago, Sammy." And decided to go as Hawkeye, to which Dean joked, "Another purple guy? Are you trying to tell me something?" Castiel even let Sam have some of his drug money to buy a nerf bow-and-arrow, which he painted purple. It felt nice when Castiel defended him by saying that purple was the color of royalty and he didn't understand what Dean was insinuating. Dean sighed at the whole purple Hawkeye costume when Sam came out of his room that night, but didn't say anything about it.

And seriously, Sam didn't know that Ruby was going to go as Black Widow.

When Dean walked in and saw her, he winked at Sam and said, "Well, I've never been able to tap that, so you won't be getting my sloppy seconds."

The younger boy huffed, and the second he reached the landing of Crowley's basement, he took off to join Gabriel, Balthazar, and Bela huddled in a corner. Castiel laughed, and Dean felt appreciated, so the two of them sat at the bar next to Lucifer.

He was moping already, which Castiel took as a bad sign, and put his hand on his brother's shoulder as he sat down. The older boy looked at him, giving a confused look as to who the hell Castiel was supposed to be, before he decided he didn't care. He sighed into his drink and shot a dirty look at Crowley.

"I _wanted_ to finally go as Han Solo, but this asshole told me to play my part."

It was fitting. Black slacks with a black dress shirt, a red vest with a rose in the pocket, and two red horns poking out from his hair. Castiel didn't mean to laugh, but he couldn't completely control himself. He was nervous and needed drugs. As per their agreement to let Sam come, Castiel knew that wasn't an option.

Well, it wasn't without lying to Dean.

"The Devil?" Castiel laughed. "Didn't you tell him Lucifer was an angel?"

"I really, honestly tried. He told me I'd look gay with wings and God forbid _I_ look gay, considering what happened last time I found myself in a sort of gay situation at Crowley's house."

"Sort of gay?" Crowley was behind the bar, laughing at the two of them. He was drying out a glass, playing bartender. "How is trying to kiss a boy _sort of_ gay?"

Crowley looked nearly the same as he did every day at school, but the suit he was wearing had more distinct pin stripes. He had on a white tie, a fedora, and behind him a Tommy Gun rested across the bar. He even had one of Lucifer's roses pinned to his lapel.

Castiel smiled, and Crowley leaned against the bar, sneering, "If you don't start singing like a cannery, I'll have you sleeping with the fishes, see?"

Lucifer and Castiel were both laughing, commenting about the very poor American accent. In his defense, Crowley insisted that all gangsters talked like that, which only made the brothers laugh harder.

It wasn't very often that Dean was the socially alienated one – considering his boyfriend had been mute a month ago and all – but it almost felt nice to see Castiel acting like a human. And just when the alienation was getting to an awkward level, Crowley turned to him, set the glass he had been drying down, and asked him what he'd have to drink.

Castiel was beaming – though Dean couldn't be sure why Crowley playing nice was anything to smile about. Well, other than Crowley never played nice with anyone. When Dean didn't answer right away, Crowley added, "I'm not going to slip any arsenic in it with your boy sitting right here," with a mischievous grin that almost made the older boy feel better somehow.

The bar behind him was littered with expensive alcohol that Dean could never afford on his own. He wouldn't accept hand outs, but when was he going to get another opportunity to drink like this? He was still in the process of committing when the British boy sighed and turned around. He picked up a bottle of Jameson a few feet away and poured a little into Dean's cup. He put the cap back on the bottle, but left it on the bar in front of Dean.

Dean did love whiskey.

Crowley leaned on his forearms in front of Castiel again. Even behind the glass of whiskey, Dean recognized it as a come-on posture. He frowned, but his boyfriend didn't seem to take any notice.

"And what about you, angel? Wot'chu drinking?"

But that, Dean couldn't let go. "Angel?"

Two pairs of eyes suddenly locked onto him, and Dean lowered the glass to rest on the bar. He was trying to seem casual, but he somehow knew he was coming off looking angry by the innocent look Crowley was giving him. Like, despite that this was his house and his party, he knew the older boy could take him in a fight.

"I was named for the angel of Thursday, Dean. All my brothers have angelic names," Castiel said, resting an arm on Dean's forearm. "Crowley has referred to me as 'angel' since…" He looked at the older boy, like he was trying to remember the first time specifically.

"…Since…" but the exact date didn't come to Crowley either.

"… Since before school started, anyway. Months, at least." Castiel finished, smiling first at Crowley, then at Dean, trying to show there was no reason for anyone to act offended or jealous. Somehow, it managed to calm both boys. Dean took a sip of his Jameson and Crowley started breathing again.

"And as for me, I would appreciate something strong. Dean has requested I not take my _medication_ and I find I am growing anxious," Dean started to protest what he actually meant when he said that – that he didn't want Castiel taking his pills as they weren't prescribed and getting all distant and exhausted like he did sometimes when he came back from work (or taking all of the ADD meds at once and getting crazy hyper like at the last party) – but Crowley just nodded like he understood.

Crowley pulled a beautiful, small bottle from the top shelf and sat it in front of Castiel – like he knew the younger boy would want to read the label before he drank it (seriously how much time did they spend together? Dean wondered) – before he got a short on-the-rocks glass and filled it full of ice. He got out two shot glasses and placed one before Castiel, the other in front of himself.

"Patrón Tequila?" Castiel asked.

"High end. Like fifty-plus dollars a bottle. Like, _stacks on deck, Patrón on ice, and we can pop bottles all night. Baby, you can have whatever you like_ ," He pulled the cork from the top of the bottle, and held it to his nose like it was some fine wine and not some bottle of tequila. He offered it to the younger boy who smelled it, but Castiel didn't have anything to compare it to so he said nothing. Crowley poured a shot into the glass before adding a splash of Grand Marnier and lime juice. He added a straw and a lime and slid the drink at Castiel. "Silver tequila makes the best margaritas. I think gold is a fucking piece of garbage."

The younger boy tried to take a sip but Crowley stopped him by shoving another lime at him and a salt shaker. Between Dean's helpful hands and Crowley's instruction, the younger boy put his mouth around the skin where his thumb met his pointer finger and added salt. The bartender poured two shots of the expensive tequila.

"Watch me," Crowley said. Castiel watched as the boy sucked the salt from his own hand, grabbed the shot glass and tipped his head back. When the shot was gone, he bit into the lime, closing his eyes to either block out the pain or in delight, Castiel wasn't sure.

Castiel mimicked, but with a lot less grace. The second the liquid touched his tongue, it was like swallowing lighter fluid. His arms were shaking involuntarily when he set the glass down and received a chorus of "Bite the lime! Bite the lime!" from his brother, his boyfriend, and his dealer. He welcomed the lime, but even biting down didn't offer much relief. So he started in on the margarita.

He heard all three boys around him laughing, so he smiled, his mouth around the straw. It actually felt nice to make people laugh.

"If you think that's rough, try shooting cheap tequila," Dean grinned. Crowley made an affirmative noise at the back of his throat.

* * *

As was the case at Crowley's last party, it was the younger crowd who got things moving half an hour or so later. The older boys were content to sit and drink the night away. Gabriel and Sam, who were both at a whopping two cans of Coca Cola each (Sam, because he remembered the awful vomit-filled walk home alone the last time, and Gabriel because sweet was always better than bitter), were unable to ignore the harpies any longer. Or at least, couldn't stand watching Balthazar and Bela making out between sips of wine.

"How _classy_ , how _cultured_ ," Gabriel teased the couple. But that grew boring, so he pointed to the girls sitting near Crowley's stripper pole.

Both Ruby and Lilith dyed their hair for the occasion. Ruby's dark hair didn't really hold the red in a way that looked permanent, but Lilith the school girl turned cheerleader for Halloween was now blonde with pigtails. Lilith, it seemed, was officially going blonde.

Because he was dressed as Hawkeye, Sam had no choice from Gabriel but to go for the other S.H.I.E.L.D. assassin turned Avenger. Though, Sam tried protesting that as Loki, Gabriel should have to deal with Black Widow (he also tried, "I mean, Loki totally heart-washed Clint, so couldn't we just… I don't know, dance together?") Gabriel frowned, which, in the green made him look like the trickster God all the more and said, "No." That, and Gabriel physically beat him to Lilith.

Not that Sam really minded. He liked Ruby well enough when she wasn't yelling at him to stop acting like an infant and push himself up. And she was hot as hell in the leather.

One hand slid over his bicep in the cut-off purple shirt. She leaned close to him and grinned, "Look, all that hard work is paying off." Sam felt the blush rising in his cheeks, but he didn't say anything. He didn't need to. In one small movement, Ruby was grinding against him on the dance floor.

If Castiel and Crowley thought Lucifer was depressed before, it didn't compare to the look on his face when the dancing started. He actually turned away and faced the bar, staring into his drink like he couldn't bear the thought of watching Sam with someone else. They both knew that Lucifer had a crush, but this took things to a whole new level.

And this wasn't exactly the place to pull out a joint to calm the leader down.

Ultimately, it was Balthazar who stepped to Lucifer's rescue.

"I forgot, I made the four of you these as a good will for letting me in," the younger Novak said, holding out four small cards. "I've been working on perfecting the design for a while. I was going to start selling them to kids at school but figured you'd lot make a good beta test first." Dean, Castiel, Crowley, and Lucifer each took one, recognizing them as Kansas state driver's licenses, declaring each of the boys twenty two.

Well, not the _boys_ …

"Dean Smith?"

"Lucifer Milton?"

"Fergus Rodric McLeod? What the fuck kind of name is that, Bale?"

The younger boy grinned, taking a sip of his wine and shifting his weight to be on his other foot. "I thought you'd like that, Crowley."

Castiel stared at the picture on his fake license. It wasn't a picture of him. The photo had the same style to his hair, the same shape to his face, the same eyes. But it wasn't him. The dates made sense for a fake ID – it didn't say he was born in the sixties – it didn't say the license was expired. His eyes traced over the name his brother had bestowed upon the ID.

They traced and traced, but the words wouldn't sink in.

"Cas?" Dean asked, brushing their shoulders together to try and look at the plastic in the younger boy's hands. To Dean's surprise, his boyfriend shoved the card at Lucifer before looking up at his younger brother. He looked hurt and angry, but he also looked at least a little bit astonished.

"James Novak," Lucifer read. "Oh, Balthazar. How could you?"

"What?" Dean breathed, hand reaching out to Castiel. The younger boy grabbed the ID from his brother and shoved it at Dean.

"That's a picture of my father when he was sixteen," Castiel said. His voice was set and cold. "My father, Jimmy."

"Wow," Dean sighed, "That's your… dude you…"

"I look just like my dad," Castiel stated. His voice shook a little bit, like he still couldn't quite tell how he felt about the revelation. Like in all the times he'd looked at the photos around the house, he never noticed before. His eyes rose again, searching Balthazar's face for answers.

In his defense, Balthazar looked as if he regretted it, like he didn't think his brother would react that way.

"I found his wallet," Balthazar admitted. "When mom died I went through their room and I… I found his first license. And you look so much like him… I… I meant it to be a complement." The younger boy held open his palm, like he would take it back and make him a new one. Castiel took the plastic card from Dean, and he stared down into it once more. He felt a hand cover his thigh – even though his two immediate brothers in age were next to them and Dean preferred not to show affection in public – and squeeze. It was reassuring.

He felt a heavy weight sit on his shoulder and realized it was Lucifer's cast, "Crowley, I think my brother needs another shot."

Dean squeezed again. "You know, your dad was kind of hot."

It was a joke, Castiel knew by the look on Dean's face when he – and his brothers – shot a look of disgust at his boyfriend. Dean was grinning, raising his eyebrows as if propositioning Castiel, and suddenly, the younger boy was giving him a lopsided grin.

It was a complement to him – Dean was really calling _him_ hot – even if it was in a weird, backwards sort of way.

Castiel turned to face the bar and slid the ID at the fake bartender. "Here is my ID, sir, to prove I am legally of age to consume the beverage. In case you wanted proof."

Crowley took and studied it as if he were a real bartender. "I don't know," he said, but slid it back to its owner. "So, another shot of Patrón, Jimmy?"

"That would be lovely, Fergie."

Lucifer only managed to stay in his stool because Balthazar collapsed into him with laughter. Dean stood on shaky legs, using Castiel's shoulder as support, trying to stretch out his back muscles after being hunched over laughing. Castiel raised his eyebrows at Crowley with a smile on his face.

For his part, Crowley put the Patrón back on the shelf with a frown and grabbed Captain Tequila – the most generic, cheap tequila that could be bought ("Ten dollars for a liter, boy.") – and poured the shot. Castiel took it, sure he wouldn't be able to taste the difference.

Wow. That went down rough.

His face sent the boys around him laughing once more.

* * *

"What's wrong, Sam?" Ruby pulled Sam over to the couches at the opposite side of the basement, not caring that it left Gabriel and Lilith dancing completely by themselves like idiots.

The freshman frowned, looking over at the bar where everyone was laughing and having a good time. After the talk he had with Lucifer, Sam kind of thought he may have a chance. If not at anything else, a chance to be the dude's friend. And here he was, dancing with Gabriel (well, not really. Dancing with Gabriel would be a lot less stressful) while Dean was hanging out with Lucifer like they were best friends.

Which, whatever. Dean was Castiel's boyfriend and Castiel was Lucifer's brother, after all. But still. Whatever.

The thing was that for the ten zillionth time, Sam wondered why Lucifer. It wasn't like he was the first person to pay Sam any attention. Ruby was pushing his hair out of his face, looking at him like she would get on her knees right here and now if that was what Sam wanted, but he couldn't explain the attraction he had to the older boy.

Maybe it was because he felt guilty that he got him kicked out of the house. Yeah, it had to be that.

"What do you think they're laughing about?" Sam asked, suddenly focusing on the girl before him.

"It's just your brother and the weird Novaks, Sam," Ruby started, confused. "One of them probably made a dick joke."

The song changed.

Sam watched as Lucifer stood, took a shot of something, and strutted with purpose to the dance floor. The only ones dancing were Gabriel and Lilith. The older Novak tapped his brother's shoulder, and didn't so much ask him for his lady as he took her.

 

 

 

  
_"Take me by the tongue and I'll know you._  
_Kiss me til your drunk and I'll show you_  
_All the moves like Jagger…"_

Lucifer danced, especially with Lilith, like he didn't so much know anything about Mick Jagger live and was relying on the Maroon 5 video. Sam knew that _Sympathy for the Devil_ was the older boy's jam, but he doubted Lucifer ever danced like that when he heard his songs.

The boys at the bar were cheering the grinding on, like maybe they had instigated this whole thing, but then Lucifer caught Sam's eye. The devil was out, calling his bluff, and asking what else Sam could do with Ruby that he couldn't do with Lilith. That he hadn't done with Ruby before.

Sam's jaw set in a frown.

When the song was over – the worst four and a half minutes of his life – Lucifer walked back to the bar, throwing an arm around Dean. The five boys grinning and looking happy, until Lucifer said, "Fergie." Dean and Lucifer fell against each other. After a few moments, they walked to the TV near Crowley's bed. Acting as if he lived here, Lucifer popped in Call of Duty and handed Dean one of the controllers.

Balthazar was quick to join them, leaving Castiel and Crowley at the bar.

Sam's eyes returned to the bed where the boys were starting their game. Ruby's eyes followed his line of vision, and her hand rested on his knee.

"I love Lucifer, Sam," Ruby's voice was gentle, so much so that it startled Sam into looking at her. "And in risk of sounding crazy by quoting Sadie Mae Glutz from the Manson family: _He represented a God to me that was so beautiful that I'd do anything for him. I'd do anything for God, even murder, if I believed it was right. How could it not be right if it is done with love_?"

Ruby's hand pushed up on the younger boy's thigh more; her other hand pushed hair from his face. Sam closed his eyes to the touch, angling his head down, away.

"But even though I deify him, I'm not afraid to talk to him."

Sam frowned at Ruby, forehead crinkling in annoyance, his eyes shooting up to glare at the girl. "I'm not afraid."

The older girl didn't say anything – she just smiled – but her face screamed _suuure_. Sam knew it was a manipulation. He was smart and he'd been hanging around Ruby long enough to notice that she could find a person's pressure points in an instant and scratch away at them until they did exactly what she wanted.

Even though he knew it was a play, he was fifteen. He frowned, stood up, and marched to Crowley's bed. When he sat down, the other boys looked at him to see who had joined. Dean touched his hair, drunk and affectionate, and Lucifer smiled, handing the fourth controller back to the younger boy.

Sam let out a small sigh of relief.

* * *

Castiel had only had two shots and half of his margarita, but he was definitely feeling the buzz. He was still processing whether or not he liked it. It was certainly different than amphetamines. He didn't feel like dancing. He didn't really feel like doing much of anything but sitting at the bar and listening to the music Crowley had playing just under the sounds of gunfire coming from his bed.

Crowley had it on the Kings of Leon playlist on _Pandora_. He knew Castiel loved this indy shit. Castiel knew that Crowley didn't mind watching him as he sang along with Caleb. The older boy looked like a love-struck teenager, only dignity keeping him from sighing pathetically.

Castiel didn't have his head down on the bar, but he was only one step above that. His elbow was on the bar, his head rested in his hand, and he was looking over his shoulder at the crowd on Crowley's bed playing the game. They had already played a few rounds. Lucifer was very vocal whenever he was killed, crying out about the injustice of his broken arm and the cast fucked up his ability to handle the paddle.

Dean came in last every round.

He looked over from the game when he heard Crowley chuckling. Crowley was leaning against the bar on his forearms again. Objectively, Castiel knew that their proximity was too close – he shouldn't feel the heat from Crowley's body licking away the inches on his skin – but his mind was overpowered with alcohol. And it didn't mind.

"What?" Castiel asked.

"You," The older boy grinned. "You can't hold your liquor."

"I find this experience enjoyable in its own right but incomparable to other drugs," Castiel raised the glass to his lips, finishing his first margarita. "Why anyone would choose alcohol over heroin is beyond me."

"Most people don't try heroin, angel," Crowley's face fell, suddenly serious. "And if they have, they would never choose alcohol over it."

The younger boy nodded; heroin was considered one of the most addictive drugs after all. He let his eyes scan over the bar, wondering what he should try next. His eyes fell on a strange object next to the Tommy Gun. It looked like a very old water pitcher, with a metal spigot that could be turned on or off. The part that would hold the liquid was clear. Above it, hanging on display, were four different shaped knives of some sort, that didn't look sharp, and had designs cut into them.

"What's that?" Castiel asked.

Crowley turned around. When he guessed what the younger boy was pointing at, he turned back to Castiel with a large grin on his face. "It's an absinthe fountain and spoons."

"Absinthe, like, the Green Fairy from _Moulin Rouge_?"

"Yeah," Crowley grabbed one of the oddly shaped absinthe cups from under the bar and handed it to his friend. "You fill a shot of absinthe up to the ball, then you put a spoon over the top of it with a sugar cube. Then you turn on the spigot slowly so the water drips on the sugar cube and drips into the drink. Or, you can soak the sugar cube in absinthe, then set it on fire and drop it in. It sets the whole drink on fire, then you pour in ice water to get rid of the flame."

The younger boy smiled, and Crowley continued, "Absinthe is made with wormwood, which they say can cause hallucinations among other things. It's great, Castiel. There is nothing like absinthe in the world."

"May I try some?"

"I wish," Crowley sighed. "I haven't had any here for months. You can't really buy it in America. It's legal here now, supposedly, but it's not the same stuff at all. It doesn't have the same levels of wormwood in it. When we go to London to visit my family, my cousins and I usually take a train to underground clubs in Paris for it. They have some seriously wonderful places in Europe. I'm going over Thanksgiving break, though. I'll smuggle us back some bottles."

"Yeah?" Castiel asked, smile stretching over his face.

"Well, I doubt you'd come to London to meet my family all of Thanksgiving break, so I have to bring the best of Europe to you, don't I?" It was said lighthearted, almost as if it were a joke. But the look in Crowley's eyes kind of made Castiel think like he was testing the waters so if Castiel expressed even a little interest, that the British boy would present him with a plane ticket he already purchased, just in case.

"I would enjoy drinking it with you if you brought some back, but don't feel you have to on my account. I haven't yet decided if I like the effects of alcohol, remember?"

It was safer if Castiel turned his head back to the game. Balthazar was elbowing Dean, but as the older boy lacked the necessary skills anyway (read: his army man was walking with his gun pointing at the sky, so he couldn't even see the other guys approach), so he took the cheating with good humor. He reached to the floor and grabbed the liter of Jameson while the timer counted down to respawn. With one hand gripped around the neck of the bottle, he raised it to lips.

Castiel watched, even from thirty feet away, as his boyfriend's Adam's apple bobbed with each swig. He pulled it away before the liquid had slid down the neck, causing some to dribble over his lips and down his chin. Completely unphased, the boy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, wiped the back of his hand on his pants, sat the bottle down, and resumed playing.

"Though I find," Castiel licked his lips, "that I do enjoy others while they drink alcohol."

Crowley chuckled again, like he knew. The younger boy doubted that.

"And I find," Castiel continued, turning back to Crowley, "that both visual and auditory senses are more enjoyable while I am drinking. I've always liked _Arizona_ , but suddenly it's the best song I've ever heard. Or like Dean, he is very aesthetically pleasing. It's strange. His skin glows in a way that it doesn't when I'm on other drugs. Like the lights are dimmer than they used to be, but he is bright in comparison."

But that wasn't strange compared to the older boy's reaction. Castiel was sure he had talked about Dean before to Crowley – they were friends, now, after all (and boys often talked of their conquests as a way of bonding. Though, truth be told, Castiel didn't like objectifying Dean the way Lucifer and Crowley did their numerous partners) – but suddenly the older boy was frowning, and he turned away to grab some Scotch off the shelf. He quickly poured himself a glass and drank it and poured another.

"Do you not find Dean ascetically pleasing?"

"Are you asking me if I think your boyfriend is hot, Castiel?" Crowley snapped quietly, like a wounded animal. "I'm not gay."

Castiel frowned at him, a mix between hurt and annoyed, and the boy quickly downed another drink with a curse just barely under his breath. Castiel desperately wanted to fix this – they had been doing so well in the past few weeks – so he asked, "What should I drink next?"

The younger boy could see the responses forming and dying on Crowley's tongue. _What the fuck do I care_ or _Why don't you ask Dean_ but he settled for, "Do you like iced coffee?" When Castiel nodded, the older boy made him a White Russian, which was delicious on a level he had never experienced with alcohol before. As he was trying not to gulp it down, Crowley picked up his glass of Scotch again.

"You should try that game. You can't be any worse than your lesser half," Crowley wouldn't meet his eye, and Castiel knew him well enough to know that meant he wanted to be left alone. The least he could do was honor that. So he stood, picked up his drink, and walked to the other side of the bed.

By eleven o'clock, he had lost count of his drinks and how many times he died. It was okay though; the real game came when he wasn't playing. One time, Zachariah told Castiel a joke that the younger boy accepted as his brother's attempt at writing parables. It went along the lines of, "And then War said, 'I'm like Jell-O shots at a party – I just remove inhibitions.'" And while the entire parable was lost on Castiel now, the message was that people shouldn't drink Jell-O shots at a party.

Apparently that stretched past Jell-O shots and included all alcohol.

Dean was never very affectionate in public, so Castiel rarely touched him around others. Long story short, with the alcohol in him, he couldn't take his hands off the attractive, glowing boy in front of him.

It started innocently, a brush of his fingers on the older boy's arm, a hand placed on his back. Now, Castiel was sitting behind Dean, knees spread so the older boy's hips fit between his legs. His fingers traced patterns on Dean's back through his shirt (he abandoned the leather jacket an hour ago) and in his defense, Dean was trying really hard to ignore the boy's worship.

The poor bottle of Jameson was his attempt, but it was almost gone.

Occasionally, he said things like, "Cas, quit it. You just made me die." But those comments resulted in hands moving to the front his shirt, fingernails scraping across his chest and sides. And if nothing else, Dean was a quick learner with that. He kept his mouth shut.

There was a spot on Dean's neck that Castiel's eyes focused on. He wanted to be gone. He wanted to be home. Where he could kiss that spot on the boy's neck.

"Cas," Dean suddenly hissed quietly. He turned around to look at his boyfriend, pupils blown with lust and alcohol. Castiel stopped moving his hands, unaware they were under Dean's shirt, acting on their own to unbutton his pants. "Seriously. If you don't stop, I will throw you on this bed and defile you in front of God and all your friends."

The noise Castiel made to respond to that threat had Dean pushing the paddle at Balthazar in the middle of a round. The other boys were pleading for Dean to not do it – _for them_ – but they were only saved by Crowley marching downstairs yelling, "Pizza time!"

The game was paused, and the party reconvened at couches across from the bar. They had gotten two pizzas – one garlic sauce and cheese, one pepperoni – after Dean swore up and down about how it was "a sin and just fucking cruel to cook baby goats while their mom can fucking see it all dead and cooking and shit," which made no sense to anyone but Castiel and Sam, but ordering a cheese pizza got him to shut up. He even tried a piece of garlic sauce and cheese and exclaimed, "this is the fucking best pizza I've ever had."

To which Sam replied, "You're drunk."

Both Gabriel and Sam had started partaking an hour ago, when Castiel refused to ever watch _Glee_ again unless Sam tried his White Russian and Sam discovered he liked it. Crowley told Gabriel he could make a Shirley Temple with alcohol in it.

They were both on their second, which was respectable.

Besides Dean's swearing and Castiel's handsiness, it was interesting to see what else abnormal happened when alcohol was presented to the mix. At one point during the pizza consumption, Balthazar and Castiel were having a discussion. It didn't make sense. Dean kept trying to focus on what they were saying, but he couldn't understand them.

Until suddenly he exclaimed, "Are you fucking speaking French right now?"

Balthazar, who had finished an entire bottle of Redcat by himself, shrugged. "I don't… think so."

"It was actually a delicious mix of French, Spanish, and Italian," Gabriel chimed in. "They used to do that when they were kids – mom used to say they had the gift of tongues. I swear to God that Cassie can speak at least something in any language you can throw at him."

To which Castiel responded, "Fokken naaier."

"What's that?" Dean asked.

Crowley grinned, "Fucking fucker in Afrikaans slang."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean's hand found his boyfriend's shoulder. He probably meant it to come off as friendly, but the way it was rubbing lightly made Castiel remember Dean's earlier promise. "You seriously know any language?"

"Well, I can tell you he picked Afrikaans up from Die Antwoord so don't let him fool you," Crowley laughed. "That is kind of cheating, innit?"

" _Baby's on fire_ ," Castiel replied in a strange falsetto and the two were laughing to some obscure inside joke.

Even when Balthazar was speaking English, and had Gabriel to confirm it was in fact English, it was harder than hell to understand what he was saying. Not really because of the slurs, but because of the slurring _speech impediment_. Luckily for him, Bela seemed to comprehend. Not that she was any easier to understand.

Ruby and Lilith were probably one prompt away from making out with each other. Even Crowley had cooled off as his blood-alcohol level grew.

But none of that compared to Lucifer. He was drinking like he wanted to forget something. And while he hadn't passed out or thrown up yet, he certainly was the picture in the dictionary next to the definition of the word "shitfaced."

The game had kept him preoccupied, but as he plopped down on the couch in between Sam and Ruby – who were sitting thigh to thigh, Lucifer had to physically separate the two of them to claim his spot – Crowley knew he was going to have to run serious interference. Unfortunately, his partner in Lucifer-control was currently staring at his boyfriend to be any help. Fortunately, Dean seemed content to stare back and ignore whatever could develop with the wasted boy and his brother.

In his defense, Lucifer ignored Sam in favor of the pizza. And thankfully, Crowley actually folded his hands in prayer to a God he didn't believe in, Meg walked in around the time Lucifer was finishing the crust.

"Heeey!" The girl squealed, descending the steps in a short white outfit that could only be that of a nurse. A slutty nurse. Lilith and Ruby responded positively to the return of their friend, and even Castiel raised his head, looking confused.

Stoner probably just realized this was the first time he'd seen her in a month.

After all, her commitment to their cause often called for different hours than Castiel's duties.

The drunken leader of their makeshift gang turned his head, recognition causing a smile to grow over his face. "Ma belle," he cried. Meg walked right up to him, putting a knee between his legs. Lucifer raised his hands to cup her face, and although she towered over him, the display by the older boy was so oddly dominate, it sent shivers over Crowley's arms.

She produced some cash and shoved it at Lucifer. With one hand he accepted the money, the other stayed on her cheek. "Have you brushed your teeth, my dear?"

Meg scowled at him, and Lucifer laughed, pulling her face toward him. Crowley was surprised by the spark of jealousy that overtook the room. It was expected of Lilith and Ruby, but not of Sam. The younger boy had his bottom lip between his teeth, his body clinging to the armrest on the couch to put as much distance between the vile display and himself.

It was Castiel, though, who really shocked them.

"Is that a single night's pay?"

Meg leaned up, placing her hands on her hips and turning her torso to face Castiel with such sex appeal, Crowley felt his stomach drop. It had no effect on the younger Novak, and Meg should have expected as much, the way Dean's arm around his shoulders barely seemed to hold his rage back.

"I'm good," was her reply.

"How much is there?" Castiel demanded.

The idiot Lucifer was either too trusting of his friends or too drunk to care, because he separated five $100 bills and fanned himself with laughter. "Oh, you are so good."

The girl turned back to Lucifer, shifted her weight with a wink, and plopped down next to Ruby, grabbing a slice of pizza.

Castiel shot a look of rage at Crowley. The British boy was leaning against the couch on the other side of Dean, and his angel's boyfriend looked frightened by the anger and glanced instead at Crowley. "Why does she make that much? Do you favor her over me?"

Lucifer started giggling. His attention turned to Sam, his arm danced over the back of the couch in what was certainly not a sly movement.

"She does not do what you do," Crowley glared at Lucifer, but the other boy didn't seem to notice, "Rather, she does what you have _refused_ to do."

Castiel was about to argue that he hadn't refused to do anything for Lucifer. Dean turned back to face his boyfriend, but Castiel was looking past him toward Crowley. Who winked.

_Oh._

What he had refused to do for Crowley.

Castiel dropped the arguments as well as his head onto Dean's shoulder. The others were ignoring him now, chatting amongst themselves and Ruby was asking Meg if it was _good_ or not. And how she would be out there with her once she turned eighteen. But nobody was paying attention to her, either. Especially not Crowley, who couldn't look away from Castiel biting the older boy's neck, and who couldn't help but hear that fucking sigh of love and lust from that Adonis to his angel.

Crowley swallowed heavily in his throat, and suddenly Castiel's half-lidded eyes opened, finding his dealer's with ease. Brown met blue, and the message was loud and clear.

Castiel would _always_ refuse Crowley.

Well he didn't have to be a dick about it.

Lucifer set the money on his lap. He took one of the five bills from the stack and held it out to Sam Winchester. The younger boy wasn't quick to forget the kiss with Meg and didn't accept the money.

"I'm betting this on you for the fight next week," Lucifer slurred. "So don't let me down."

Sam still didn't accept the money, so Lucifer chuckled and pocketed it with its four brothers.

* * *

The next thing Castiel remembered was that he was at the bar in between Lucifer and Crowley, and Balthazar was putting a shot of something in front of each of the three boys.

Any normal bartender would have cut them off by now. Balthazar was just as hammered as his brothers. They took them, and Castiel made a gesture across his neck to try and cut himself off.

Nobody was at the party anymore but the four Novaks and the two Winchesters. The girls had been the last to go around midnight. Dean was so rough he could hardly stand, and he seemed content to watch Sam look through Crowley's bookshelves. Gabriel sat across from Dean, working with a deck of cards trying to perform a magic trick to impress the older boy. The tricks were weird, though. Instead of picking out Dean's card, he'd shuffle a deck and have him pick out seven cards.

When he turned them over from being face down to face up, they reveled seven letters with hearts. C-A-S-T-I-E-L. Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows, grinning at Dean, but wouldn't tell him how he did it.

Gabriel was ready to leave whenever Balthazar deemed the night over. It was almost twelve thirty, and it was a school night. If he didn't get his ass in gear in the next couple of minutes, Gabriel was going to leave without him.

"Who the fuck are you supposed to be, anyway, brother?" Lucifer asked, reaching for the front of Castiel's trench coat. He missed the collar the first time, but on the second attempt, he felt the material clench between his fist. "A deacon?"

"No," Castiel laughed like that was the most amusing thing he had ever heard. "I'm John Constantine. I wanted to be Blaine Warbler from _Glee_ , but Dean told me that it was gay."

"Blaine Anderson," Sam corrected from the other side of the room for the billionth time. "He sings with the Warblers. It is not his last name."

"They named the group after him," Castiel whispered, like Sam couldn't hear him. The younger Winchester glared over the top of a book; Lucifer giggled.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Cassie, but I don't think dressing up like a gay character would make you gay," Balthazar started, somehow making more sense the more the other guys drank. "I think it's the part where you take it up the ass that makes you gay."

The four boys at the bar were roaring with laughter, and even Gabriel cracked a smile. He glanced up at Dean, who had his eyes closed, with a distant smile growing over his features like he was remembering some fond memory. Gabriel laughed aloud, guessing what it could be.

"How the hell are we supposed to get that you're Constantine from that costume, angel?" Crowley started.

"Here," Lucifer said. Dean heard some rustling, then a strange sound he couldn't quite place. When he opened his eyes and looked at his boyfriend, his shoulders were hunched and his hands were in front of his face, blocked by his body. The other three were watching carefully. A second later, he handed a small metal box back to Crowley – a lighter – and a trail of smoke started rising before him before his boyfriend blew out a puff of smoke.

"Now say it," his elder brother instructed.

"I'm Constantine," Castiel took another puff. "John Constantine, asshole."

"I didn't know you smoked," Dean's voice was raw, like he hadn't used it for a while, and he forced himself to sit up. Castiel turned around, like he had forgotten Dean was there. Lucifer grabbed the cigarette as if he could hide the evidence.

"I… uh…"

"That's my fault," Lucifer said. "When our mom died, I shared one with him. I keep sharing from time to time. I'm sorry."

Dean shrugged, but stood. "He's a big boy. 'M not his mother. Just weird I didn't know. Never smelled it on ya or tasted it or anything."

Castiel felt shame swell in his being. And this was about cigarettes. And Dean genuinely seemed like he didn't care. What would Dean think if he knew he abused his prescription drugs and shot up with heroin more nights a week than he didn't? What if he didn't care? Castiel didn't know if that would be better or worse. Before he could answer in his defense, Crowley was laughing.

"There're a lot of things you don't about your boyfriend."

Dean shrugged again. He didn't seem mad – he really didn't – he didn't even seem disappointed or anything. He seemed indifferent and drunk, and Castiel wondered if the latter had any effect on the former or if he truly didn't care. It hurt, thinking Dean didn't care about what he didn't know.

"I'm gonna take Sam home. He's got school in the morning," Dean stated, blank. Sam was quick to gather his nerf toy and start up the stairs. "See you later, Cas."

"Dean, wait." The younger boy stood shyly, and approached tentatively. "Could I come with you?"

"It's past midnight on a school night, Cas," Dean said. "You've never stayed on a school night – Michael will look for you in the morning."

"I don't care," Castiel said, approaching tentatively, reaching out and taking the sleeve of Dean's leather jacket. "Please let me stay with you and Sam."

Castiel looked up at Sam. The younger boy was smiling and gave a quick nod. Dean shrugged, but the smile on his face made Castiel realized that his boyfriend _did_ care. If nothing else, he cared that at the end of the night, he knew where Castiel was going.

Always to Dean.

When the Winchesters and Castiel waved their goodbyes and left, Gabriel finally dragged Balthazar out of the basement as well. The older brother fought the younger, but it wasn't much of a competition, really. Gabriel flicked his brother's ear and Balthazar was whining, practically running out of the house to escape him.

"See you in lunch tomorrow, bro," Gabriel added before heading home.

And then there were two.

Crowley took out a cigarette and lit it, sitting on a stool next to his friend. The two of them didn't share cigarettes, not like both did with Castiel. The devil and his favorite demon sat smoking in silence.

School was going to suck in the morning.

"You want to crash on the couch tonight, Luce? No bother walking back to the Church alone this drunk."

Lucifer was smiling at him, which almost made Crowley regret the offer. "Nicknames are a sign of friendliness, you know."

"I fucking call you nicknames all the time," the other boy sneered.

"Always devil names," the boy corrected. "Teasing isn't friendly."

They were silent for another few moments. Lucifer put out his cigarette and stuck out his hand. Crowley was surprised by the gesture, but shook it anyway.

"We make a great team," Lucifer said. "And you really are a friend to me. Thank you, Crowley."

Crowley felt his ears grow warm, but Lucifer spared him having to say anything touching back. He walked to the couch and shut the pizza boxes, flopping down and sprawling out over the material. He used one of the decorative pillows that were already there.

So Crowley found him a blanket.

By the time he got back to Lucifer, the boy was sleeping. His cast was under the pillow, his other hand pulled up against his chin, tight to his body, and there was a frown on his face. Crowley covered the boy up, shut off the lights, and climbed in his bed. From across the room he could hear Lucifer talking in his sleep.

He swore that when he woke up, he would pretend he never heard the tortured sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean was singing in the shop – “Burning for you” by Blue Oyster Cult
> 
> Crowley quotes “Whatever you like” by TI when talking about the tequila.
> 
> Lucifer dances to “Moves Like Jagger” by Maroon 5
> 
> The quote Ruby gives from Sadie is actually from her testimony at the trial. I first heard it from “Sadie” by Alkaline Trio
> 
> “Baby’s on Fire” by Die Atwoord is a really awesome song if you’re into weirdish technoish rap in three-quarters English and one-quarter Africaans.


	7. Love a Life I will Divide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit Suicide Attempt this chapter. This could be a trigger so please, please, please read at your own discretion. I would hate for anything to happen to any of you. The US National Suicide Prevention Lifeline number is 1-800-273-8255

 

 

 

 

**Chapter 7: "Love a Life I Will Divide"**

After Halloween, things got rough.

It didn't all happen at once. Lawrence, Kansas wasn't suddenly put on the map as a large gang town. The gang was working slowly toward progress, without any real idea about what being a gang meant. Lucifer only knew that his end-goal was to harm Michael in any way he could. And that wasn't exactly a motto for a gang. Somehow, they all became obsessed with money as if the more money they got, the more they would know what to do with it to hurt Michael.

And, to quote _Evita_ , the money kept rolling in from every side.

Castiel had gotten a group of steady buyers. He sold three days a week and just the regulars bought a giant portion of the drugs. Some nights it got so bad that a new junkie would walk up to him on his way back to Crowley's and he'd be out. He was never pressed enough for money to sell his own small stash of heroin. By the second week, he was consistently earning a hundred dollar profit for himself and another hundred for Lucifer. The hundred that was left was used to buy more drugs. Crowley had to set up an emergency meeting with his supplier to increase his goods.

Castiel hadn't been at the meeting, but Crowley said he couldn't tell if his supplier was surprised or displeased by the request. He promised the younger boy he could go to their next exchange, which would take place after Crowley got back from London after Thanksgiving.

The goal was to sell the large shipment of heroin and pot by their next meeting. Castiel's personal goal was to sell it before Thanksgiving vacation started.

But, of course, that wasn't the only income for the gang.

Castiel learned that Meg only had a couple of steady johns. She didn't walk the streets or anything. The reason she hadn't been in the picture lately was because she was recruiting girls to join her. They were a nameless, shapeless blob that on (rare) occasions hung out in the Church after school. Lucifer dubbed them the Harem.

The Harem included mostly older girls. Girls who left home to go to the University of Kansas and was met by Oxycodone. Crowley monitored their paychecks of heroin, which annoyed Castiel because it meant he had less to sell and take for himself. Once, the younger boy suggested they pay the Harem in the Oxy his brother didn't take when he broke his arm, but Crowley shot that idea down. Heroin was cheaper. And he was planning something special for the Oxy.

The Whores of Lawrence made Lucifer incredibly uncomfortable. So Meg usually kept the large source of money out of sight and out of mind, stopping by once a week to drop a wad of Benjamins in their leader's lap.

Lucifer was loaded before the idea of Fight Club came up, and with only a few days until their first fight, it was already expected to have a large turnout.

That was when things started getting rough.

On the first of November, everyone who attended Crowley's Halloween party attended school in various states of disarray. Dean held his alcohol like a champion. He was temperamental and disliked loud sounds and light, but he didn't spend the better part of the morning in the nurses office puking like Castiel did. The nurses made an extra fuss about it, considering they thought he was diabetic. Dean thought he was too. He brought a pack of M&Ms to him around ten, but Castiel practically screamed about needing an insulin shot from his bag. About how everything hurt so badly and how he was dying.

The younger boy gripped Dean's sleeve like a child, eyes filled to the brim with tears, begging him to give him a shot.

The nurse said he had been asking for it all morning, but every time she tested it, his blood sugar was pretty normal. It was running a little low, but not nearly as low as it should have been considering he was throwing up all morning. A shot now would only lower it to a dangerous level.

Dean stayed there for fifteen terrifying minutes, in which Castiel gripped and pulled, pushed and hit, alternated between begging and swearing, and eventually, started crying and shaking. It was when the boy went silent, tears drying on face, and staring at one point on the wall just over Dean's shoulder that Dean knew without a doubt that this wasn't a hangover.

Something was seriously wrong with Castiel.

The nurse called Michael down over the intercom.

Before he could get down there, Dean tried snapping Castiel out of it. He spoke to him, he touched him, but nothing really worked. His boyfriend just stared, eyes wide, like he was seeing something his mind couldn't process.

Michael was talking to the nurse about what was happening with his brother when Castiel's eyes drifted from the point on the wall to Dean, like he was afraid what would happen if he looked away.

"I can see them," he whispered. "Tell my brother that I see them." And he was gone again.

Michael joined Dean by his brother's side with a nod. They didn't speak, but together they managed to get the younger boy up and outside. He kept looking around in front of him like he wasn't sure where he was or what was happening.

"He told me to tell his brother that he sees them. Do you know what he means by that?" Dean asked, but Michael shook his head.

Dean had heard a lot of things about Michael. Castiel mentioned him in passing from time to time, but on the few occasions he has hung out with Lucifer, the older brother wouldn't speak of him at all. Gabriel loved his brother. He spoke fondly of all of them, but claimed that Michael's little Christian group was doing a lot of good for a lot of wayward kids.

But Dean remembered Michael hanging out with him at the park, watching their younger brothers play. They had been friends once, though he hardly remembered it now. He did remember one time Balthazar had pushed Gabriel from a slide or something, and he remembered how Michael punished Balthazar swiftly and fairly and comforted Gabriel in almost the same breath.

He remembered thinking that Michael loved his brothers as much as Dean loved Sam.

They paused outside. Castiel's eyes went to a hedge of flowers in front of the school, and Michael met Dean's gaze. "My younger brothers say Castiel is good friends with your brother Sam. He is at your house frequently, I hear. Do you… do you see him often?"

 _Wow_. Dean thought.

"He's at my house when I get home from work at 8. He usually leaves around nine or ten most nights," Dean answered honestly, not bothering to correct Michael. He would save Castiel the trouble, remembering what happened with Lucifer. "Why?"

"There are a lot of things wrong with Castiel," Michael stated, rubbing his brother's hair affectionately. Castiel lurched forward toward the bush, but Dean held him back. The way Dean was holding the younger boy should have been a sign to Michael. The fact that he was there before him, touching his brother in the nurse's office should have been a sign.

Dean's eyes narrowed, "What do you mean _wrong_?" His anger and frustration and worry should have been a sign. But Michael was either oblivious or chose to ignore the obvious.

"He has been quiet most of his life. Thoughtful. Our older brothers think he's simple, but I've always thought of him as… eccentric. He is highly intelligent. Our mother favored him. When she was gone, he would stay shut in his room playing piano for days. He would get better, sometimes, when she would come back but she was gone for months, sometimes. When our father left, a therapist gave him something for his anxiety and depression." Depression? That was new to Dean. "His road has not been easy, but when he found your brother… I thought he was getting better."

" _Dean_ ," Castiel suddenly cried, turning to his boyfriend. His hands trembled on Dean's chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt. "Dean, help me."

"We should get him home," Dean said, gently turning the younger boy around and pushing him toward the Novaks' house.

A strange thing happened then. Michael was frowning, like he was putting two-and-two together and he didn't like it. Until suddenly, he looked up at the sky – completely clear blue, not a cloud in sight – and lowered his eyes back toward Dean.

"Will you keep an eye on him, Dean?" Michael tilted his head slightly. "Will you keep him safe when I can't watch him?"

Dean felt like he was being tested. Irrational anger boiled in him. Castiel was sick. He needed to get home. Now was not the time to be pulling his self-righteous bullshit. "I would do anything for him, Michael," Dean spat, and led Castiel away.

When he looked back half a block later, Michael was gone. He'd gone back into the school.

Nobody was at the Novaks' house, but when Dean tried the door he discovered that faith must have kept them safe from burglaries. Their door was unlocked. Half a block ago, Castiel threw up in a gutter until he locked on to a point behind them, got scared, and ran the rest of the way home. He collapsed on front porch, so Dean had to carry him inside. As soon as he laid him on his bed, Castiel threw up in the garbage just beside his bed stand.

Dean was terrified. They shouldn't be here. They should be at a hospital.

He rubbed his boyfriend's back, the only thing he could think of to do, and when Castiel lied back down, he looked a little less crazy and a whole lot more tired. He put a hand over his face, trying to wipe the sweat away. Dean's hand rested over his knee.

"Dean?" He lifted his hand and peeked through, like someone coming down from a seriously bad trip.

"Yeah, I'm here, Cas."

Tears filled the younger boy's eyes, and he rolled onto his side, looking away in shame.

"Hey, don't get like that. Lots of people can't really hold their alcohol."

The snort that came from the younger boy caused a tear to break from his eyes and roll across his nose. He wiped it away before it dropped to the mattress. "It isn't the alcohol, Dean. I didn't take… remember? You told me that I should try drinking without my… pills. And so now…"

"Oh, Jesus, Cas," His hand found the younger boy's and he tugged. "I didn't mean for you to stop taking them as prescribed. I meant… don't… I don't know what I meant, but I never meant for you to get…" Dean felt his heart being ripped from his chest. "This is all my fault. I'm sorry."

Castiel was quiet for a moment longer, still looking away from Dean, tears still dripping from his eyes. He was staring at the wall again, but not like before. He was thinking about something pretty hard. Dean squeezed his hand, guessing it was about them. About how Dean put him in this situation.

Whatever he was deciding, it didn't come easy. When he decided, he looked broken. He looked tiny and fragile. When he turned back to look at Dean, he wasn't crying anymore.

"I really need a shot," Castiel begged. "Please. Please, just get my bag for me."

The nurse had said his blood sugar was low, and that passed briefly through Dean's head. But what he told Michael was true: he would do anything for Castiel. If that meant he needed a shot, Dean could at least get the bag for him.

By the time he returned, Castiel had shrugged out of his jacket and sat up. With voyeuristic fascination, Dean watched as his boyfriend tied the tourniquet around his arm and punctured the top of the insulin bottle with the needle. He tapped out the bubbles and lined up the needle to his vein. His hands were shaking. Dean was sure he was going to miss.

"Do you need help with that?" The older boy asked, but secretly prayed that Castiel didn't need the help.

His prayers were answered when the Castiel stuck the needle in and emptied the liquid into his blood.

It hit instantly.

Dean didn't know anything about diabetes or insulin or anything, but Castiel barely had time to pull the needle from his arm before he melted. His body slid back into his bed with a satisfied smile on his face, the needle still clenched in his hand. Dean took it, put the cap back on, and put it back in the bag. He took off the tourniquet and packed that away.

He used tissues from a box on the floor to put pressure on the bleeding spot at the crook of Castiel's elbow until it stopped bleeding. By the time it did, Castiel was asleep.

The panic was still rushing through Dean. He sat next to the boy where he could see whether or not he was still breathing and grabbed his phone with shaking hands. He needed to guidance and comfort. He needed answers to the strange questions swimming in his head.

Sam answered, even though he was still in school.

"Hello?"

At hearing Sam's voice, Dean lost it. Sam was quiet and helpless; he just listened to Dean cry.

* * *

Sam was more than shocked to see Castiel at the Church when he got there after school hiding out in the kitchen with Crowley and Lucifer. Dean had texted Sam half an hour ago and told him that Castiel had woken up normal – not shaking, not sick, not anything – and said he was going to work. Bobby would have let him take off if Dean said it was an emergency. He figured the boy had to be okay for Dean to go, but he hadn't expected Castiel to be so okay he was up and walking around.

The younger Winchester had been at lunch when Dean called the first time, and he had told the story to his table, hoping that one of the three Novaks he ate with knew what "tell my brother I saw them" meant.

Lucifer sure as hell knew it meant something, but he wouldn't share it with the class. And the way he gripped Castiel's shoulders while Crowley looked on, concerned, didn't make Sam feel any better. Eventually, Lucifer left the two alone to go outside and look at his roses – it was what he did to clear his head – and Crowley tried talking to Castiel.

His brother's boyfriend was a little shaky, and he was hugging himself like he was alone and cold. Sam couldn't hear anything they were saying, but after a few moments Crowley started looking angry and desperate, and Castiel hung his head.

Everyone knew he had diabetes. The boy was probably sick of hearing from everyone that he needed to take care of himself. So Sam didn't bring it up to him. He pretended like it didn't happen, and Castiel seemed thankful for that.

So thankful, in fact, that he rewarded Sam with music. When they started making dinner, Castiel chose what they listened to, quietly adding, "Alkaline Trio is Lucifer's favorite band." The older boy wasn't much help in the kitchen – he mostly sat with his head down at the table – but the music was nice. Lucifer had great taste.

When Dean arrived home, things were awkward at first. Sam couldn't tell if the two had a fight over the incident. They were being extra polite to each other – something Sam and Dean did when they were pissed – but they both looked like the guilty culprit. With the brothers, both felt they were right. It was strange watching a fight when both parties thought they were wrong.

It seemed to all get better around nine, when Dean said, "Do you want me to walk you halfway home?"

Castiel looked like he had been punched in the stomach at the exact same time that somebody ran over his pet cat. Hurt and regret poured from him, but he seemed to accept this as punishment, because he replied, "I understand. I'm sorry. That won't be necessary. I'll just go."

Dean beat him to the door, pushing it shut with a frown. "I mean, you spent the night here and look what happened to you. That's all I meant by it. You can always stay. You are always welcome here."

And that was the story of how Castiel became a full-time Winchester.

It made it really hard for Sam to find time to talk to Dean alone, though. But he managed a few minutes when Castiel was in the shower the next morning.

"So what the hell happened with him, Dean?"

Dean told him about the meds. About how he told Castiel not to take them, so when he woke up sick from the alcohol, he couldn't take his pills or he'd just throw them up. The prolonged time without them caused him to have a panic attack.

The story didn't jive with Sam.

"A _panic attack_. You're saying that was a _panic attack_?"

Dean shrugged.

"Then why did he want his insulin? Why was that the thing that calmed him down?"

Dean shrugged again, and Sam was getting mad. Before Sam could attack him, Dean held up his hands in surrender. "Look, Sammy. I'm not a doctor. I don't know how any of those things work. All I know is that he seems okay now, alright? I told him not to take pills, and he ends up like that and he takes them and he's fine. Okay? I'm not going to question because I don't want to know."

Dean threw his leather jacket around his shoulders. He looked down, looking suddenly old and tired. Like he knew that it was too hard to handle on his own, but he was too proud to ask for help. Upstairs, the water shut off, and Dean hissed, "Alright, Sam? I don't want to know."

But Sam knew a lot about diabetes. A girl in his class had it. Once, he had to walk her down to the nurse and she took a shot of insulin into her thigh before she could eat lunch. She had to take a shot every time she ate, basically.

He had never seen Castiel give himself a shot.

He had never not trusted Castiel. He had never doubted him before. And Sam thought that for the next few days, he should study Castiel before he would decide whether or not to confront him. The most remarkable and out-of-place thing that happened was that apparently Castiel was the only one of them man enough to use his fake ID. One day when he came home after doing whatever he did for Lucifer, he had a brown paper bag in one hand and a twelve pack of Corona del Sol in the other. From the bag he pulled a liter of Jameson, UV Cake, and Kahlúa. With a wink he asked Sam if he wanted a drink.

(Later, Dean saw the alcohol on the refrigerator and called Castiel into the kitchen to explain. Sam stayed on the couch – they were in the kitchen for way too long – and when they came back into the living room, Dean had half a bottle of the beer gone and Castiel was tonguing a cut on his lip with a disturbing look of content on his face.)

But Sam never really got the chance to actually ask Castiel what was up with his "panic attack."

On Monday the fifth of November, Lucifer, Castiel and Crowley join the trainers for the last practice before the first Fight Night on Wednesday. All the trainers stood at the back of the room and the fighters sat on their knees before Lucifer. Even though it wasn't Lucifer who made them kneel, Sam recognized it as the trainer's way to get them used to kneeling before their king.

Which, whatever, smart of them.

Lucifer told them they'd do stations. They had been doing pushes and pull-ups and sit-ups for so long, stations earned smiles about the room. When Lucifer told them they'd be learning to throw punches and start friendly sparring, the eight kids actually cheered.

Scott and Max were closest to Lucifer, so they joined his sparring station quickly, but Sam followed Castiel to the other side of the room for stretching practice. The two girls went to Crowley.

Sam figured yoga with Castiel would suck. The other boys at his station agreed. While his brother's boyfriend explained various stretches and the reasons why they were important, some of the bigger boys started to make fun of him.

For a minute or two, Castiel ignored it. He focused on what made him comfortable which was Sam. The older boy had them in downward-facing dog pose, trying to describe the tension on the back of the knee. "You want to try to push your chest as low as you can," Sam felt Castiel's fingers touch softly between his shoulder blades, trying to get him lower. "It looks strange, and feels strange, too. But that's how you get the good stretch."

"I'm sure it's about the stretch," Jake said, tilting his head up to flash Castiel a nasty grin. Sam didn't want to fight the other boy in the first round. He was picked by Azazel first, and in comparison, Sam didn't think he stood a chance. "It has nothing to do with you wanting us bent over."

Sam shifted his arms, lowering himself to his hands and knees. "Hey," he warned, surprised at his own confidence.

"Stand up," Castiel stated. The authority was a new tone to Sam, and Andy dropped to his knees and his twin, Ansen, stood by walking his hands closer. Jake crossed his arms and smirked at the boy leading their stretches. "It is important," Castiel continued, "to really know about the muscles and ligaments throughout your body. As you know, it is important to stretch before the fight so you don't tear anything."

Castiel was walking behind the boys, his hands behind his back. "And, of course, for knowing what is injured. If you have enough knowledge, you can use pressure points to your advantage."

The older boy stopped behind Jake, adding, "For instance…" With a small, harmless kick to the back of Jake's knee, the younger boy crumpled to the floor with a surprised yelp. Or at least, he would have crumpled, if Castiel hadn't wrapped his arm around the younger boy's throat. Jake's hands went to Castiel's forearm, trying to pry his neck from the older boy's grasp. He couldn't get his feet to stand below him, and Castiel tipped his chin, baring the Jake's throat.

"It's like…" Castiel frowned and looked up, "It's like in the second Mulan movie when she sings about balance. You can't have one without the other."

Sam smiled. The younger boy was bigger than Castiel, and his brother's boyfriend held him up with one arm. Castiel smiled back at Sam, a small, relieved thing.

"Do you understand, Jake? Or should I demonstrate something else?"

He tried to make a sound, but it came out as a choked cry. Castiel took it as a _yes I understand_ and unceremoniously dropped the younger boy on the floor. He was gasping for breath. "And besides," Castiel smirked. "I have no reason to check you out. You should see my boyfriend's ass."

Sam sighed.

That, of course, wasn't what caused Sam to drop his quest to find what Castiel was hiding. That happened when his group made it to Lucifer's station. The whole point of the station wasn't to learn how to hit as much as it was for Lucifer to punch younger kids without getting in trouble. He started every other group by asking for a volunteer. After hearing what Jake said to his younger brother, he "volunteered" for Jake.

After demonstrating how to make a fist so they wouldn't break their hands, and going over a quick review of pressure points, Lucifer demonstrated, sinking his fist easily into Jake's stomach. The boy doubled over in pain, and the other boys in Sam's group snickered.

Sam just frowned. The self-important look on Lucifer's face infuriated him. He was showing off. And when his pale eyes met Sam's, the smirk dropped into something confused, then went blank.

He told the boys to pair up. He specifically instructed not to actually hit each other, but to work more on defensive moves.

Andy paired up with Ansen, so that left Sam with Jake, a pissed off bully who always took it out on the smaller kids. Sam saw something bad happening before Jake's fist flew full force at his face.

By the time Sam was with it enough to look up at his attacker, Lucifer had pinned Jake to the floor with an animalist scowl on his face and Castiel was halfway across the room, pulling one of Balthazar's butterfly knives from his pocket. His arm was bent at the elbow, and he opened by twisting it around his thumb, then pushing it back into position. It was a move he had seen Balthazar do – the pair had spent hours watching Team Fortress 2 clips of the Spy thumb rolling the balisong open – but when Sam tried it he cut himself. Castiel did it so effortlessly a chill ran over Sam's arms.

"Wait," he said, but Castiel was kneeling down to the boy. His eyes didn't focus on the hand instantly, but when he saw the knife, Jake swore in a voice a little higher pitched than it was before. He played it off as cool as he could, but there was real fear in his eyes.

"Already playing favorites," Jake spit, blood flying from his mouth. Lucifer raised his fist to punch the boy again.

Sam sat up, dizzy. He'd never taken a punch to the face before, but supposed now was just as good as two days from now. "Stop," he said, pushing himself to his feet. Lucifer froze like a well trained dog, and Castiel stood and looked back at Sam. "And why do you even have Balthazar's knife, Cas? Put that thing away before you hurt someone."

The older boy looked in his hand like he didn't know he was holding the weapon. He quickly flipped it closed and put it back in his pocket. He didn't answer verbally, but crossed over to Sam, putting his thumb under the boy's chin to examine his eye.

"Seriously, Cas. Stop it."

"Are you okay?" Castiel breathed, touching his thumb gently to the side of Sam's cheek. The younger boy hissed, smacking his hand away. The older boy's hands left Sam's face long enough to dodge the smack, but were right back there to angle his head in a different way.

"Leave me alone, _Dean_ ," Sam hissed, sarcastically. "I'm fine." Castiel smiled, but started pushing Sam into the kitchen to get an ice pack.

"Can I keep punching him?" Lucifer asked.

Castiel nodded, but Sam sighed. "Are you two crazy? Get off of him."

Before Sam let himself get dragged to the kitchen, he made sure he saw Lucifer remove himself from the younger boy. Castiel grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer – they didn't keep anything in there but frozen peas for training purposes and ice cubes – and pushed them against Sam's face.

"Seriously, Cas. Even Dean doesn't baby me this much," he pushed the older boy away, but was secretly pleased by the response out of both of the older Novaks who jumped to his defense.

"That's a lie," Castiel said, frowning at him. He looked out the window separating the kitchen and coffee room. Jake was pissed, declaring favoritism and Azazel was trying to console him. Lucifer was shaking with rage and after a few moments, he excused himself and stormed down to his bedroom.

When Castiel looked back, a bruise was already forming. The older boy sighed, "Does it hurt?" He didn't wait for an answer. He started searching through Crowley's drug supply, pulling out prescription bottles of Percocet, Oxycodone, and Vicodin. Each prescribed to a different person. "I'm sure we have some… Tylenol or Ibuprofen…" his voice dropped down to mumbling when he added, "or something… legal… in here."

"Why do you care so much?"

Castiel stopped looking, turning to face the younger boy with an expression Sam recognized as the look Sam gave Dean whenever he was hurt or annoyed or… well, it was a pretty universal look. Dean called it the bitchface. And when Castiel gave it to him, Sam secretly wondered how Dean ever held out as long as he did. Sam squirmed under the pressure.

"You're not just my boyfriend's little brother, you know," Castiel started, and Sam tried to cut him off there. He tried to say that is exactly who he was, but the older boy frowned and smacked his arm. "You're my friend. You're one of my best friends – you're like a brother to me, too. I would do anything for you, Sam. Anything. For you and your brother."

A hard lump went down Sam's throat and he stared at Castiel's chest. Guilt was rising at his mistrust. And while he doubted the older boy was being honest – Sam was _positive_ a person didn't shoot insulin into their arm like that – he could feel that Castiel was being honest about this. He loved Dean. He loved Sam. Hell, in the past month or whatever, Castiel has slowly been adding to their fund jar. This past week he reached the thousand dollar mark. Nobody gave somebody a grand – keeping it in their survival fund – if they weren't sincere about doing anything for them.

Hell, the boy _lived_ with them.

Sam nodded, feeling too ashamed to even open his mouth to apologize. Dean didn't want to ask questions and that should have been enough for Sam too.

When Dean got home that night and saw the shiner, he very calmly dropped his coat and washed his hands. When he came back down, he hovered at the door, hand on the knob and said one word.

"Name?"

Sam had been practicing his lies all night. He ran into a wall. He got hit with a ball in gym class. Anything but the truth. Dean could never know that Sam was going to be fighting for money in two days time. Especially not for Lucifer. (Dean wasn't exactly the most educated on the Angels and Demons war going on, but he knew enough to tell Sam to stay out of it the Novak twins' pissing contest.)

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel was staring at his hands, clenching them together and opening them slowly. "This is entirely my fault."

Confusion changed to fury in a split second, and Sam thought that he would have to step between the lovers. "You hit him?" The tone was full of hurt accusation, like he had no idea who he would side with.

"What? No," Dean visibly relaxed before joining Castiel on the couch. "The kid who hit Sam… I started it. He insinuated that I was looking at his… um… at his butt, so I choked him."

"Were you?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrow in a way that was half annoyed and half impressed that his boyfriend had the balls to check someone else out. Either way he got to beat the kid up, right? "Checking the kid out, I mean."

" _No_ , Dean. Will you listen?" Castiel begged. "I choked him, and he was upset so he had to take it out on someone else. I should have been there. I should have been able to stop him, Dean. I'm sorry."

Wow, Sam thought. That was a completely accurate and truthful rendition of events (from Castiel's point of view) without giving away anything of any importance. Loopholes and technicalities. Castiel should be a lawyer.

The older Winchester looked at his younger brother as if to verify the story or ask for a name again. He did ask for clarification on one minor detail. "Cas choked a bitch?"

Sam felt himself smile and dragged his brother to standing position to show Dean exactly what the smaller boy did. He was delighted to see that the trick was mostly effective against his older brother as well, but he was a far more experienced fighter (and there was a far greater height and weight difference between them) and Dean got out of it by lunging himself forward causing Sam to topple over him.

The Winchesters were laughing on the floor, but Castiel was brooding on the couch still.

When Sam could breathe again, he added, "And after he punched me, he was hit… and…" he shot a look at Castiel, "almost filleted."

With a sigh, the older boy took the butterfly knife from his pocket and handed it over to Dean, like he was his father confiscating a favorite toy. "Balthazar gave it to me to defend myself. When he punched Sam, I don't remember getting it from my pocket but it was out and I was over him and Sam… stopped me."

The impressed look on Dean's face faded to be one of fear, but a bit of understanding. How many times had he gone into blind rage for the younger boy? He felt the open ridges in the handle, but didn't open the blade. He pushed it back.

"Show him how you opened it, Cas," Sam urged.

With another brooding look that screamed _you are focusing on the wrong part of the story_ , Castiel did as he was told, somehow getting the blade open by dancing it around his thumb without cutting himself. He was quick to close it and put it in his pocket before the Winchesters turned him into a circus act. There were more important things to discuss.

Dean had that same impressed look in his eye that he did after he found out Castiel played the piano. And the younger boy sure remembered what happened _that_ night. "Wait, Dean…"

"Did he cry or piss his pants or anything when you pulled the knife?" Dean's voice was too low, and Castiel practically raised his arms in surrender to get him to calm down for a minute. Sam cleared his throat nervously.

"Um…" Castiel shot a glance at Sam, begging for help.

"But," Sam chimed in quickly. "But he brought a knife to a fist fight and you know what you always told me. 'Don't bring a knife to a fist fight because that's dangerous.' Dean?"

"Did he learn his lesson?" Dean suddenly turned to Sam. "Or do I need to beat this kid up?"

Sam smiled. If Dean were asking, it meant he would let this drop. "He definitely learned his lesson."

"So…" Dean licked his lips, turning back to Castiel. "Dinner'll be done in what? Twenty minutes?" Sam grunted his affirmative, walking out into the kitchen to start on dinner. He knew where this was heading, and that was the last thing he needed.

He heard Castiel mutter, "So do you forgive me then?" in a soft voice, like he really didn't think Dean was going to. Like Dean was going to send him back to Michael or break up with him or _whatever_.

"Well, you can make it up to me."

Sam had heard enough. Castiel's iPod was already in the dock, so he turned it on to drown the conversation out. It was still on the Alkaline Trio playlist Castiel had chosen last time they cooked dinner, and the younger Novak was really pushing Lucifer's band to the youngest Winchester.

 

 

 

 

  
_"Take your wings outside, you can't fly in here._  
_Besides a purple sky is better soaring for you, my angel._  
_You're an angel, you little devil. As for me_  
_I'll stay inside. I'll be just fine and I'll watch from the window."_

Sam heard the feet stomping up the stairs around the time he started molding the ground beef into hamburgers. Just his luck. He gets punched in the face by a dude, then the universe punches him in the face by saying _oh yeah your brother and his boyfriend are having gay sex right above your head right now._

Whatever, world. Just whatever.

* * *

The whole point of having Fight Club on Wednesday was because Lucifer was set to get his cast of Tuesday night. He'd been scratching at it since Halloween. He almost took a pair of scissors to it twice, only to be stopped by Crowley both times.

As he sat in the waiting room with his cast off, he sort of wondered when his life went downhill.

It wasn't so long ago that he lived at home. Had it really been a month and a half already? He had shared a room with Michael. And while he wouldn't admit it to anyone, there were more nights than not when Lucifer would lay awake with a hole in his chest, missing the sound of his brother's snoring. The hole had filled with rage initially, and he was still plenty angry, but more often than not, he just missed his twin brother.

And when he prayed every night, he still prayed for Michael's health.

Besides Michael, he had the girls. Obviously, the three of them were still on his side, but it wasn't like he'd gotten laid with this chick magnet of a broken arm. Which, truthfully, was his doing. Meg volunteered to whore herself for money, which was cool for the cause, but he just didn't feel like it anymore. He was the last one to judge – he had been with his fair share of girls – but even if he did want to, it didn't feel right to ask. She had johns, and Lucifer doubted having more meaningless sex was what she wanted to do with her free time. Ruby was fulltime training (slash) courting Sam Winchester – which killed him inside for all the wrong reasons – and while she could always make time for him, the whole point of her relationship with Sam would be compromised if Lucifer slept with her again. He couldn't go to Lilith – he was still haunted by the memory of their last time – and whenever he thought of going to her and trying again, he thought of Sam and his heart shattered into a zillion pieces.

It was like time stopped the day his arm broke. His appetite for everything diminished. Food turned to sand. He didn't crave sex or release or anything. He wanted to take back everyone he'd ever been with and become pure again (and take back a couple of years, too), and tell Sam that he made him believe. He wanted Sam to read to him as he fell asleep and touch his hair and remind him why life was worth trying.

He didn't want this stupid war with Michael. He just wanted Sam.

And that was exactly how he ended up in the small doctor's room, his arm uncasted but still waiting on the results of his new x-ray, with his little brother. Not that he didn't love his little brother; if anything, that was the one reason he wouldn't go back. He loved Castiel and really valued how much time they spent together anymore, but his little brother wasn't three hot chicks with no inhibitions.

"Where do you think they keep the drugs?" Castiel had poked his head everywhere, hoping to score something he could sell. If nothing else, he was really dedicated to Lucifer's gang.

"Brother, I didn't want to mention it in front of Crowley, but there has been something I want to talk to you about," Lucifer's eyes fell on Castiel. He was jittery as fuck – he got like that sometimes, a side effect of one of his medications – but the younger boy sat in the doctor's chair and rolled it closer. He nodded, trying to keep his feet still.

"When mom died, you passed out. Do you remember that?" Castiel nodded, so Lucifer continued. "You were screaming then. Do you remember anything you said?"

"No," Castiel said, eyebrows wrinkling in confusion. "Didn't we talk about this before?"

"Well, Dean told me that you were sick after the Halloween party. He said that you said, 'tell my brother that I see them.' Do you remember saying that?" Lucifer tried to keep the pleading tone out of his voice, but failed.

His younger brother really looked like he was thinking. He was silent for a few moments before he shook his head with a sympathetic look, "I remember asking him if I could stay. I remember walking back and going to bed. Throwing up before I got in the shower. Barely made it into school before I threw up again. Then it's all flashes. I remember seeing Dean sitting over me. I remember Michael outside and his mouth is moving but I don't hear anything. Then I remember…" he paused, licking his lips. "Dean got me my diabetic bag, and I fell asleep."

Lucifer nodded. It was the same story Dean had told Sam on the phone during lunch.

"I don't remember saying much of anything," Castiel's hand found Lucifer's right hand. The more time Castiel spent watching Sam and Dean, the more he offered physical comfort to his own brother. Lucifer knew he ate the affection like candy, but he couldn't help it. If a situation could call for a friendly pat on the back or a hug, he would usually jump at the chance. "I'm sorry, Lucifer."

"It's probably for the best," Lucifer admitted with a sigh. "It's just that…"

But the doctor came in with the X-Rays, giving out more bad news. It was a bad break; the doctors told him that the first time. But apparently six weeks wasn't enough time to heal completely. He didn't get a new cast, but an ace bandage with a hard metal piece that went over the wrist to keep from moving too much. The good news was that he could take it off to shower.

He never thought a wrist could smell so weird.

The doctor hadn't said anything, and neither did Castiel, when they cut the cast off and he noticed how mismatched his arms were. The inside of the cast was spotted with matted, dried blood from scabs. Crowley's careful regiments of pot and cheap comedy only did so much, especially now that he lived alone. Lucifer didn't have to sneak to the bathroom to cut himself. Crowley kept taking away the razors he found under the mattress, but Lucifer kept bringing knives down.

His right wrist was a series of spotted scabs while his left was mostly faded lines.

Lucifer thought that it was ugly. Not the scars themselves, but how the white flesh was starting to fade from the scars. He was already starting to twitch at the anticipation of marking the flesh again.

So what if he wouldn't be completely healed so he could fight tomorrow if the need arose? At least he had the cast off and he had things to look forward to, right?

* * *

There was a lot of fighting among the trainers, Lucifer, and Alistair about the Fight Night. Lucifer wanted the fight to take place at night, but the trainers cautioned that the reason they all met after school in the first place was because the kids could sneak away for an hour without their parents missing them. If they pushed it back, parents would ask questions when kids snuck out after dinner.

Like they wouldn't ask questions when their kids came home all beaten to hell.

They were still arguing about it in the kitchen when Castiel noticed the kids were starting to show up and prep for their fights. The runner didn't have any real pull or say in this argument, so he and Crowley were passing the senior's phone back and forth, playing Words with Friends. Crowley was taking forever, so Castiel let his mind wonder.

Castiel shot some heroin before chemistry class. Dean was starting to refer to his heroin high as "overly medicated," which meant he thought it was from an imbalance of Xanax and the amphetamines. He made a comment about the younger boy nearly falling asleep in class because of it. Castiel didn't correct him, but smiled and gripped his boyfriend's thigh with a wink.

He raised his hand and asked to go to the bathroom. Two minutes later, Dean was swearing at him as he pushed in the bathroom door and saw that Castiel was waiting. The younger boy gripped his boyfriend's arm and pulled him into the handicap stall and got on his knees. It was quick and sloppy, but the teacher didn't say anything when Castiel walked in a few minutes later, followed by Dean a minute or so after that.

Dean kept his mouth shut about being overly medicated after that.

Crowley pushed his phone back to the younger boy. He had played "jet" vertically across from a horizontal "she" on a triple word score where the two met. 54 points. And Castiel was still winning.

Castiel already had his word planned. He quickly moved the word zouk over the O in torahs with two double letter spots. He didn't bother to look at his score as he pushed the phone back to the older boy.

Crowley sighed, "You know what? Name something you aren't good at. I'll start practicing so I can beat you."

Castiel thought about it for a minute, before saying, "I don't know sign language."

Crowley sighed again and turned back to the game. The younger boy saw him open Safari and go to an anagram website but Castiel didn't care. The British teen still wouldn't win.

Some time close to 3:30, everyone had showed up at the Church. Lucifer was insistent that the fights had to take place in a low-lit room, so everyone marched to the catacombs opposite of the boy's makeshift bedroom. It had been swept already; now it was just a big empty space with a cement floor and cement walls. His brother handed Castiel a can of white spray paint and told him to mark a big space with a Devil's Trap.

Lucifer was slowly making up lore to go with his favorite markings on the Church. He explained that the Trap was the ring for the fight. Two devils went in, and only one would get out of it the victor. A Devil's Trap was a circle with a pentagram inside. The five spaces outside of the star but inside of the circle had different, occultish looking markings. Lucifer told everyone they were Enochian markings, and Castiel frowned at him in a way that said _you should know better._

While waiting for the spray paint to dry, the leader of the Demons explained the rules. "The first rule of fight club is you don't talk about fight club," Lucifer quoted, his eyes closed and a smile on his face that he used to get when he quoted scripture perfectly. But _Fight Club_ had always been a favorite of his brother's. Lucifer was the only person who liked Chuck Palahniuk more than Castiel did.

"The second rule of fight club is you don't talk about fight club," And those idiot kids sort of giggled. They were too young, Castiel thought. The movie came out in the 90s. He and Lucifer were too young. The kids were fighting for something they didn't even get the reference to. It would be funnier if it wasn't sickening.

"When someone says stop, or goes limp, even if he's faking it, the fights over. Only two guys to a fight. One fight at a time. They fight without shirts or shoes. The fights go on as long as they have to."

A wave of kids started toeing off their shoes, sitting them like good children against the wall. They pulled off their shirts, some of them probably seeing their virginal bodies for the first time in the dim overhead light that swayed over the Devil's Trap. Sam Winchester wasn't the only kid who crossed his arms over his chest to cover himself.

Castiel knew he wasn't high enough for this.

Lucifer didn't say the seventh rule – the best rule. What was the point? It was the first night so everyone was new. He didn't explain how betting works, he didn't really explain how or why there were so many guys older than himself there, but Castiel assumed they were the ones that were going to bet. Alistair was in charge of the money, and the older guys went to him, looking over at Azazel's eight children.

Bets weren't made until the lineup was sorted. That was chosen by drawing two names from a hat. Sam was shifting from one leg to the other, and Castiel wondered what was running through the fighter's mind. Besides the two girls that Azazel chose (and for some reason, they accepted, knowing they would probably have to fight boys), Sam was the smallest fighter. Ansem, Jake, and Scott were bigger, and even though Andy and Max were around the same size, Castiel knew the smaller boy didn't want to fight either of them. Andy was becoming his friend and Max spent a lot of his time alone, being coaxed by his trainer to even stand up and to work out.

Even now, Max had his hands fisted in his hair, staring at the floor. And Castiel thought he was messed up.

Either Sam was going to have to beat one of his friends, a girl, or a boy much bigger than him.

They started the drawing.

Castiel was standing so close to Crowley their arms touched and the younger boy could feel the heat seeping through the senior's suit. His arm twitched, and Castiel knew the only thing that kept his friend from wrapping an arm over his shoulder was the thought of Dean beating him. He thought they were over this. He took a step away from Crowley, and the older boy looked at him for a moment, before raising a bottle of water to his lips, choosing to say nothing for once.

The first fight was Ava verses Lily, and Castiel kind of thought it was rigged since the only two girls happened to be fighting against each other.

The second fight was Max verses Andy. Castiel wondered who would be the favorite to win that fight. Andy was hardly ever serious in training, but at least he trained. Max was too much of a kicked puppy to get out of himself.

Would he even fight today, or would he let Andy beat him?

The third fight would be Sam verses Ansen, and Castiel knew it could be worse, but not by much.

That left Jake fighting Scott as the finale.

While the betting started, Castiel approached his friend, who was rolling his shoulders, trying to loosen up. Azazel's children started spreading out, trying to get into the zone or psych out their competitors. Max had his back against the wall of the crypt, his hands in his hair, his foot tapping nervously. Scott sat down next to him, putting a hand over his arm.

Castiel pushed Sam's hair off his forehead. It was a gesture that Dean did to the younger boy from time to time, but Lucifer did to praise Castiel more frequently these days. Sam looked up, serious and set, without a hint of fear in his eyes.

"Do you think I have a shot at beating him?"

Castiel shrugged. According to Alistair, being Dean's brother gave him some sort of advantage. But Ansen had been killing it during training. He was taller, heavier, and stronger than Sam. But he was slower, too.

Sam gave a small snort, like he appreciated the honesty, but suddenly got serious again. "Hey, Cas. Do you have your knife on you?"

"Of course, Sam," the older boy said, taking it from his pocket and extending it toward the younger boy. "But you aren't allowed to use weapons."

"Right, I know. But if I'm getting my ass kicked in the Trap, then I can't have you jumping in and stabbing someone, either. If I come home with bruises, we can explain it away to Dean. If I come home and you're in jail for stabbing a guy, what do I tell him?" The younger boy's eyes fell on Lucifer, intending to give Castiel's brother the knife to hold.

He stared at him for a moment, and Castiel turned around to see. Lucifer wasn't looking in their direction; he had his hands clasped together and eyes closed in prayer. Castiel could almost see the wheels turning in the Sam's head. Lucifer tackled Jake the last time he had gotten in a fight. If he had a knife on him, he'd probably stab him too.

"Crowley," Sam called. He gave the knife to the senior and told him not to give it back to Castiel until after his fight. Crowley was giving the younger boy a look that said he thought it was _cute_ that Sam was trying to give him orders, but Castiel nodded, so Crowley slipped the blade into his pocket.

It wasn't like Castiel couldn't take it back if he really needed it. If Crowley felt the younger boy making a grab for it he probably would assume he was going for his lighter like always.

Before they left Sam alone to prep, Castiel dug in his pockets to hand his iPod over to the younger boy. Sam smiled, grateful, the same way he had when Castiel let him use it to beat Lucifer running the mile which landed him in this place to begin with. As the younger boy put the buds in his ear, Castiel dug out money which was folded perfectly into quarters. He slowly unfolded them, but watched Sam's eyes grow wide as saucers as he separated them to show the boy how much he was willing to bet on him.

"No pressure," the older boy gave a small, nervous smile.

"Cas," Sam breathed, like he'd never held five hundred dollars before in his life. Crowley sort of gave an awkward cough – to him this much money was chump change – and he walked away. Sam had tears in his eyes as he looked up, shaking his head. "You can't bet this much for me. Ansen… he's a big guy. I'm going to lose."

Castiel folded his hands over the bills and took them from Sam. He carefully folded it twice, slipping the folded money into his pocket. "I haven't known you for very long, but you will win this fight." The older boy's hands reached out, fingers barely touching the sides of Sam's jaw. His thumbs push against his chin, causing the smaller boy to look up at Castiel.

He broke eye contact as soon as it was made, opting to stare at his friend's chest instead.

"Have faith in yourself," Sam peeked a look into Castiel's eyes. His friend's hands dropped to the younger boy's shoulders and he squeezed. "Do you think I would throw away five hundred dollars? I believe in you."

Sam kind of smiled at that and gave a small nod.

"And besides," Castiel lowered his breath, his normally unemotive face twisted into something similar to Dean's _I am awesome_ look. On Castiel it looked less _awesome_ and more _scary_ , "you have to win if you want to impress my brother."

There was only one other Novak in the room. Sam's eyes were quick to dart over Castiel's shoulder to look at him. The Morning Star, the light-bearer, who was staring off into the distance that just happened to be right through Sam. The younger boy's shift in movement brought Lucifer back from whatever planet he was on. He raised his bandaged arm up in an embarrassed sort of wave.

Sam turned back to Castiel and narrowed his eyes, "What do I care about Lucifer?"

"Oh, my mistake then," Castiel chuckled, humoring Sam and shrugging. "Good luck, Sam."

Alistair tried to explain the spread to Castiel. He started talking about the vigorish and the odds, and Castiel shoved his folded bills at the bigger boy with a frown. "Never tell me the odds."

The older boy smirked a little at Castiel, writing down his name and his wager. "Splitting this up amongst the fights?"

"No. All for Sam Winchester."

Alistair frowned, but didn't bother to remind the younger boy that Sam was not a safe bet. Castiel rejoined Crowley in the corner. The older boy pushed his phone at his friend. While he clicked the app, he looked over at the older boy. He was pulling a cigarette from the pack and placing it between his lips.

The older boy lit the cigarette and blew out, not thinking it was weird at all when Castiel grabbed it from his lips and brought it to his own mouth.

He flicked the ashes on the catacomb floor.

Castiel meant to pay attention, he really did, but somewhere between Words with Friends and trying to smoke his lungs black, he seemed to lose track of time. Crowley was swearing and ripping up his betting ticket. He didn't so much throw them to the ground as he did let them float themselves there, but that's where the worthless paper went.

"Idda never thought Ava had it in her to beat Lilly," Crowley growled, not exactly at Castiel, but not exactly to anyone else, either. "That's fucking two hundred down the drain." But knowing the money basically came back to him caused the senior to speak with mere light-hearted annoyance.

Castiel had missed the first fight. He was determined to pay attention to the second one.

Which, he mostly did.

According to Crowley, who _apparently_ had been talking to him the entire time, Andy and Max had a nearly even spread because Andy was so easygoing and Max was so unpredictable. Alistair the bookie wasn't willing to put a big spread on them when he wasn't sure how they'd act. Nobody expected it to be much of a fight, but when the two shirtless boys stepped into the Devil's Trap and Azazel rang the bell to get his children to fight, everyone was surprised.

Max came out swinging.

It wasn't much of a fight as it was a beat-down. While Castiel had never seen his brother or his boyfriend fight, the rumors said they typically ended in the same fashion. Max was sitting on Andy's stomach before Andy knew he was even on the floor. His arms were pinned under Max's knees, and fist after brutal fist pounded into the younger boy's face.

Andy was crying out in pain, but because he never tapped, nobody entered the Devil's Trap. Eventually, Andy screamed, "Stop, stop! Okay, stop!" and Max's hand paused in midair, like something clicked in his broken mind. Max's face was soaked with tears, and he lifted himself off the younger boy.

He looked completely stunned that he had it in him. That he didn't recognize himself as the person beating Andy's face in. But when the bloody boy reached out his hand to shake, to congratulate (this was a fight both parties agreed to, after all), Max seemed a bit better. He shook his hand and offered a small smile.

But by the time Sam and Ansen entered the ring, Max was a sobbing mess on the floor by their shoes and Andy and Scott were both trying to comfort him.

"Awkward," Crowley said in sing-song, but Castiel thought it was in poor taste so he didn't comment.

This fight had a far more significant spread. Sam was growing, but Ansen was bigger. Worse, he looked pissed that his twin just received such treatment. The anger could probably blind him, but more than likely it would fuel him instead.

Castiel moved closer to the Devil's Trap. He needed Sam to know he was there for him. That if he did get the ever-loving shit beaten out of him, somebody was here to… support him?

Dean was going to _kill_ Castiel for letting Sam do this.

The bell rang, and the show was on.

Looking back on it, when Castiel was asked to recall this moment after everything was said and done, he claimed he didn't remember any specifics about Sam's first fight. He was pretty high that night, he remembered. And he could remember that Sam took three good punches in the face before he got one in of his own. But the thing he swore up and down about remembering most was his brother's reaction to the fight.

Lucifer and Dean Winchester were far more alike than they were different.

Castiel's brother started the fight at the back wall, where he had been perching all evening, nearly sickened by the violence. Despite his own use of physical violence, the sake of it for sport freaked the senior out. The first time a punch actually caused the freshman to crumble to the floor, Lucifer was at Castiel's side, right arm searching for purchase and strength. Like he was the one being beaten and needed comforting. Like if Castiel didn't hold him back, Lucifer would jump in and intervene.

It was weird of them to hold hands – Castiel couldn't remember being young enough to need a reason – but luckily Lucifer bypassed the hand to clench his sleeve, like a child clinging to his mother.

Ansen was not like Max. He wouldn't beat Sam into surrendering yet. He needed to play with his food. He allowed Sam to push himself up to his knees and watched as the younger boy raised his hands to his face to check his jaw. When nothing seemed broken, he turned and his eyes flashed from Castiel to Lucifer, standing there with a carefully guarded expression.

Lucifer was pissed that Sam was doing this, but he knew if he tried to stop him, Sam would be pissed at him. So instead, here he was, standing at the edge of the ring, supporting the freshmen silently, and letting him know he wasn't alone.

A brief flicker of a smile crossed Sam's face before he turned to Ansen and decked him.

In a few short moments, moments that Castiel wished he could recall but swore he couldn't, Sam was towering over Ansen on the floor, and the bigger boy with the broken nose called it quits. Lucifer was gone, back to his post at the back of the room, and Sam was gone. He turned to face Castiel, but the older boy couldn't recognize him. High with adrenalin, with a gash across his face from one of the punches breaking his skin, Sam looked bigger. He looked scary. He looked hulked out on steroids or meth or bath salts.

Castiel took a step back into Crowley. The older boy made a noise and put his hand on Castiel's shoulder.

The illusion was gone, then, but Sam didn't look happy to have won. As he slipped on his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head, Castiel collected his winnings – nine hundred dollars all together – and Alistair gave him an extra two hundred for Sam's personal earnings. The winner of every fight received the same pay out.

As they climbed up the stairs, Castiel handed Sam his two bills. And he pocketed it with shaking hands.

They got three blocks away before Sam started coming down from the adrenalin. He puked in a gutter not far from the one Castiel threw up in when he had the withdrawal last week.

Castiel rubbed his back as Sam cried.

* * *

To say Dean was pissed would be another understatement, but Sam stopped him before he could even start by saying, "It's over. I won't fight him again."

Which was true. Next time Sam would fight Ava, Max, or Jake. They were, after all, looking for the best of the best.

Dean was pissed, and he looked at Castiel for answers, but they weren't his answers to give. He didn't say anything. Dean was still pissed that Friday when Castiel suddenly declared he was going to the last home football game of the season and asked him if he would like to go.

His annoyance wavered with the strange request. On rare occasions, Dean caught his boyfriend checking stats of European soccer leagues on his phone and at the Halloween party, he overheard Castiel arguing with Balthazar about how Mesut Özil was the most talented player on the German national team so _obviously_ he was the best on Real Madrid, before the brothers switched into a language Dean couldn't understand. Though, truthfully, Castiel never talked to _Dean_ about the sport, but that didn't mean Dean didn't know that Castiel loathed American football on the very principle that the Americans stole the name of the greatest game on earth and made it into an abomination of a sport.

Okay, whatever. Long story short, Castiel didn't like football. So why the hell would he ask Dean to the game?

Apparently, Castiel realized Dean was struggling with character motivation here, because he suddenly sighed. "Gabriel asked if I would go. Michael let him help choreograph the halftime show for the pep band and I told him I would." When Castiel's hands touched over Dean's stomach, feeling the muscle there beneath the thin shirt, Dean knew he would go. He liked football well enough.

But Castiel continued, "If you don't wish to go, that is fine. Lucifer and Crowley are going as well."

Dean frowned, "Aw, we have to sit with your brother and his boyfriend?" The older boy saw his boyfriend smile at the comment and he felt his heart swell a bit. It was always nice to see Castiel smile. But then, Dean was sort of confused by the response. "Wait, is your brother really… with Crowley?"

That warranted him a laugh, the fingers brushing over the muscles suddenly clenched Dean's shirt to hold himself upright. When he calmed down again, small tremors still raked through Castiel's small frame, and Dean realized the pills he had taken half an hour ago must have been Adderalls. He had been falling asleep an hour ago. Dean felt his chest swell with pride that he was starting to be able to tell Castiel's patterns.

"Rest assured that Lucifer and Crowley are not dating," Castiel looked up with bright eyes, still giggling to himself. "Though, I must thank you for that… disturbing imagery."

Dean wrapped his arm over Castiel's shoulders and kissed his forehead, agreeing to go with him. Looking back, Dean knew that it was this football game that was to blame for a lot of the shit that started going down between him and Castiel. Like maybe if Dean never found out, somehow things would have all worked out. Like maybe it would be okay. If he could go back, Dean said he wouldn't go to that game – ignorance was bliss, after all – but it wasn't like that was actually an option.

Castiel licked his lips, "Go put on a white shirt… to support our team."

Forty minutes later (because Castiel had followed Dean up to the bedroom after he told him to change), they met Crowley and Lucifer at the Church. Castiel bounced – no, literally _bounced_ (a somewhat normal side effect of not enough Xanax mixed in with the amphetamines) – into the kitchen, smacking Crowley's back as he poured something into bottles. The older boy growled at Dean's boyfriend, but his eyes were full of affection.

Dean frowned at that, but just as Castiel was digging into one of the cabinets, stuffing things into his coat pockets, Lucifer was coming up from the basement. He was wearing a white jersey with the school logo on the front in red – it looked like the home jerseys that the soccer team wore, but Dean was sure he wasn't on the team. He had a white bandana in his hands like he wasn't completely sure what to do with it. He ended up folding it into a thin strip and tying it in front of his head, just under his hair, like Tupac.

With a grin on his face he asked, "Does this look stupid, Dean?"

"Very," the other boy answered honestly, but with a smile on his face. Lucifer laughed, untying it. He frowned after though, when he realized he still had no way to wear it.

Dean's boyfriend was wearing a white undershirt and a red track jacket Dean had never seen before over it. As he walked out from the kitchen, he was tying his white bandana around his thigh like Chachi wore on Happy Days. It only looked a little stupid.

Castiel looked up when he finished tying, eyes meeting Lucifer's and the older brother pouted, "I don't know how I should wear this."

The younger boy took the bandana in his hands and folded it similarly to how Lucifer had it last time, so it was just a thin strip. Castiel gestured to Lucifer's arm, still in the protective covering of the bandage. Castiel wrapped the material around the bandage, hiding it in favor of the bandana. Lucifer nodded, thinking it didn't look as stupid as the other way as walked into the kitchen and stood next to Crowley.

Lucifer started putting bottles of tea or whatever Crowley had poured into his thin, drawstring backpack. There must have been six bottles or so, the way the strings dug into his shoulders, but he didn't complain.

The two boys walked out of the kitchen and stood before Dean and Castiel. Crowley always wore a three-piece suit. Today, instead of black, his tie was white. He had a bandana too, as a pocket square.

Dean thought that was strange that the three of them wearing bandanas for no apparent reason, but he couldn't put his finger on why the white made him uncomfortable. He knew about the disagreement between Lucifer and Michael, but he never would have gone so far as to call it a gang rivalry, though. Especially one that needed colored bandanas to separate members.

Lucifer said, "Alright, gentlemen. You set? Castiel, you got your shit?"

Castiel patted his track jacket pocket like that was some kind of answer, which it apparently was because they left the Church to walk the football field behind the school. As soon as they left the Church, Dean could see the stadium. It was already pretty full.

And apparently, yes. The brotherly spat between Lucifer and Michael did warrant colors to signify loyalty.

The bleachers were divided into four sections. Everyone in the first section wore blue (the opposing team's color), then there was a section of red and black.

As Lucifer and Crowley led Dean and Castiel across the bleachers to find their own seat, Dean saw Sam sitting in the black section. He and Balthazar both had on black t-shirts, with the school's name written across in red. The away jerseys. Dean frowned, unhappy that somehow the two of them _were_ wrapped up in this color war and apparently on opposite sides. Though, probably Dean was only Team Lucifer because of Castiel, and Sam was only Team Michael because of Balthazar and Gabriel.

When Balthazar saw the four boys walking below him, he waved. The cuff of his jacket slid up his arm, exposing another white bandana tied to his wrist. The younger boy was quick to hide the ties to his other brother by tugging down his sleeve. Huh.

When Sam saw them, he jumped from his spot and ran down, surprised to see his brother at the game.

It was weird, Dean thought, when Lucifer moved over a few inches, so he was just blocking Sam's direct line to Dean. His younger brother looked up at the boy with a grin, and although Dean didn't hear it, he noticed that Sam mouthed the older Novak's name. Lucifer held out his hand, and Sam was quick to take it.

"That is some shiner you have there, Winchester," Lucifer seemed too formal, like he was trying too hard to be casual and it backfired. His wrist tilted, angling Sam's hand in a submissive pose, baring his wrist and that stupid star that Sam had been drawing on it for the past month. Lucifer met Dean's younger brother's gaze with a soft smile.

Sam met the smile and raised it by twenty-thousand watts. "You should see the other guy."

Lucifer let go of Sam, and watched with calm fascination as Sam walked the rest of the way to Dean. His younger brother said something, but Dean was too focused on the way his body was screaming at him that something was wrong here. He suddenly felt like a child and everyone else knew that Santa wasn't real or something. Like everything changed and he was the only one not paying attention.

Sam was still trying to talk to Dean, but Crowley put his hand between Castiel's shoulder blades with his right hand. There was a moment when Castiel froze, wondering who it was who touched him, but an even worse moment when he saw who it was and relaxed into the touch. When Crowley leaned closer, pointing over Castiel's shoulder at a space on the far corner, Dean actually felt his face starting to burn with jealousy.

Even when Crowley backed away, patting Castiel on the back in a strictly non-sexual way, Dean felt his jaw set. He was angry. Something was going on here, and nobody thought to tell him. And it didn't matter that Crowley was Castiel's friend before the younger boy even really knew Dean. It didn't matter that Crowley's name was synonymous with _extreme homophobe_. All that mattered was that Castiel was his and he didn't like people touching his things.

When Sam said goodbye – shooting Dean a frown for ignoring him – and Crowley started dragging Lucifer back off the bleachers the way they came on, Dean had to refrain himself from actually grabbing Castiel's hand. They were in front of the whole school, after all. And they would soon be walking by the pep band.

The band wasn't playing at the moment, but they were getting ready to. The drum major was looking through some sheet music, as if to determine which song to play first. Castiel reached for him, touching his forearm. Dean frowned again, but when the major turned his head, it was just Michael.

 _Seriously, Winchester._ Dean thought to himself. _Get a grip._

If there was ever a doubt that Michael was in charge of the black team, it quickly went away when Michael looked over his younger brother and noticed the absorption of color. The frowned deepened at the bandana tied around his leg, but Castiel seemed to be making a stand. Choosing loyalties. Dean sort of wondered if Michael even noticed that Castiel didn't live at home anymore. That he hadn't for two weeks.

Castiel didn't say anything. Not in his defense, nor to explain. He just smiled at his brother – a soft thing, filled with love – and let his fingers fall from his arm.

As Castiel walked away, Michael looked at Dean. If he thought it was weird that Castiel was with Dean instead of Sam, he didn't say anything. More than anything, Michael just looked sad.

Dean tried to nod – to tell Michael he was still looking out for Castiel – but as soon as he gave a gesture, he started walking away, following the younger boy up the bleachers to join the kings of hell at the top. Their entire section of bleachers included kids wearing white. Dean really _really_ didn't think that pretty much every kid in school had chosen sides. What the hell were they even choosing? The whole thing made him nervous.

But not as nervous as the fact that Castiel was waiting for him at the top of the bleachers, letting him go in first. This meant Dean was sitting in front of Lucifer. Castiel got something from his pocket before he took his seat in front of Crowley.

He turned to face the boys behind him. Lucifer was digging out four bottles of Lipton Wild Berry ice tea. Castiel held out his hand, two small tan pills in the center. Looking closer, Dean could see they had a small "20" pressed into it. Adderall, Dean recognized. Lucifer took one without question, popping it in his mouth and washing it down with the tea.

Crowley reached for it, hesitating, before Castiel closed his fingers around the pill. "Twenty bucks."

"Oh, fuck you, angel," Crowley growled. Castiel laughed as he pushed it into Crowley's hands.

Castiel looked at Dean for a second, and Dean could tell the younger boy was uncomfortable. "I… I have another, if you want one… I just figured…"

Dean shook his head. "No thanks."

Castiel nodded, a little disappointed, but took two bottles from Lucifer and handed one to Dean.

"I don't like tea," the older boy said, a little upset about everything. Crowley. The apparent gang and him and Sam being separated by it. The drug use.

His boyfriend apparently didn't care. He frowned and pushed the drink at him. Dean sighed – sometimes there really was no winning with Castiel – uncapped the liquid and took a sip.

And promptly spit the mouthful all over the people sitting in front of him.

Castiel was sipping it with a look on his face that proved he didn't really care for the drink. Lucifer and Crowley were drinking it like it was tea.

"Jameson," Dean decided. "You snuck alcohol into a football game?"

"Football isn't a real sport," Crowley decided. "Figured it needed something."

It was going to be a long game.

* * *

With something like ten minutes before the game was set to start, Michael realized that he needed to lead the pep band into playing something. He frowned at his book of sheet music and kept flipping through it, but really he couldn't concentrate on the names of the pieces on the sheet before him.

This had gotten entirely out of hand.

He had something like twenty kids who showed up to his after school youth program. He knew he had pull in the school being on student council, but not pull like this. How he ended up with two hundred kids wearing black and sitting with his youth group kids showing support against Lucifer was… overwhelming. It really wasn't against Lucifer. He had to keep reminding himself of that. It was to help the kids.

But it was against that sinner of a brother. He was helping them not to fall in his clutches. He'd have to thank Zachariah for his successful recruitment campaign.

Michael knew that his younger twin was living in the Church. He'd heard rumors that he had been selling drugs and pimping out girls and hosting fights but he was pretty sure those were just rumors spread by his brother to make him mad. Then again, growing up, Lucifer was nothing but completely honest.

And the school seemed divided between them.

Michael flipped back to the beginning of the book of sheet music, trying really hard to focus on the titles as he flipped through this time.

That wasn't even what was worst – the fact that half the school seemed to be drinking the Kool-Aid that his brother was spiking – because these were teenagers after all, and the devil himself was crafty. What bothered him was Castiel. The boy he remembered taking to the park – the boy their mother cherished and loved more than any of the others – the mop of black hair and stunning blue eyes.

Michael snuck a look up at his mother's favorite. He was facing away, facing toward Lucifer. The younger twin clasped him on the shoulder, laughing at whatever he was saying.

Michael felt he owed his mother more than that for Castiel.

"Mikey?"

Michael knew it was Gabriel before he looked up. His younger brother wasn't the only one to refer to him by that name, but he was the only one to do it in public. Though, if Michael was completely honest with himself, he wished more did. Mikey seemed so carefree. So childlike and pure. Michael was sure he wasn't big enough for such a full name. How could he ever compare to his angel?

(He tried really hard not to flash back to a memory of two young boys building a fort out of sheets in their bedroom, whispers of _Mickey_ and _Luke_ to reassure the other that they were still awake in the darkness. Their nicknames for each other. Michael swore he didn't miss the way _Mickey_ rolled off of his twin's tongue with such ease).

When the older boy looked at his brother, he felt himself smiling in spite of himself. Gabriel's pep band hat was too big and it either fell back and strangled him or fell forward and covered his eyes. Gabriel pushed it back on his head, amber eyes shining from underneath the brim.

"Yes, Gabriel?"

His younger brother paused, like he was still trying to formulate the words in that giant brain of his. The others didn't give him credit. The teachers at school called him troublesome, a pain, but Michael knew better. This was the kid who – at six – put a bucket of ice water above his door so when he walked in he would get soaked.

Michael still wasn't sure how the small boy managed that one. Even Zachariah hadn't been tall enough to reach and offer assistance. Their mother had laughed, scooping Gabriel up in her arms, giggling as she told Michael to get a towel and clean the mess up.

"Don't worry about anything, okay?" Gabriel fidgeted with the keys on his trumpet, pushing them down and letting them up in some pattern that made sense to the younger boy. He looked up, glancing briefly at Lucifer and Castiel before letting his eyes fall back to the drum major. "This seems like a big deal, but… how big can it be? Everything will work out, you know? God… has a plan."

The older twin lifted his eyes. Just over Gabriel's head, he could make out Sam Winchester and Balthazar laughing together. A few rows back, Zachariah was talking on his cell phone and Raphael was talking to Uriel. All of his brothers were here tonight. Even if they were divided by space and color, they were all here to show their support. For Gabriel and him. That had to count for something, right?

Michael felt himself chuckle, a hand touching Gabriel's shoulder. The younger boy flinched at the physical contact. "I suppose you're right, Gabriel. He does work in mysterious ways, doesn't He?"

Gabriel's grin returned in full bloom. He let out a shaky sigh, and Michael laughed again.

"And, I think He was totally talking to me up there before I came down to talk to you, Mikey. And I think you should have us start with this song."

* * *

It had been a long time since Lucifer had graced a football game with his presence. He'd forgotten how much he loved listening to his youngest brother blow the trumpet like the rapture was upon them.

And… Michael.

Even though Lucifer had his own prescription for Adderall, Castiel's larger dose made him twitch under his skin. Not entirely uncomfortable, especially considering Crowley was twitching with him. But it made him want to jump out of his skin and scream. He felt the scream in his belly – somewhere deep inside him, where the urge to harm himself came from – and he was surprised he had been able to hold down the terror enough to act sane.

It helped that Michael was playing all his favorite songs.

Dean wasn't drunk enough to embarrass himself yet, but when Madonna's _Four Minutes_ was belted from the trumpet and saxophones, Castiel was standing on his seat, singing along with him.

Sometimes, Castiel was so different from what Lucifer remembered him being.

Even Crowley and Dean stood and danced to Missy Eliott's _We Run This_. It wasn't until the four of them were sitting, drunk, and laughing that Lucifer had a chance to think about why Michael kept picking his favorite songs. It wasn't like he'd ever told Michael which pep band songs he liked before. He wouldn't even know.

Damn fate.

When they started playing Reel Big Fish, Lucifer realized that it couldn't be Michael's picking. They played _Beer_ and _She Has A Girlfriend Now_ , which were both songs that his older twin would certainly frown upon if he knew the lyrics. When Lucifer met Gabriel's eye right before they went on for halftime and his youngest brother winked, the leader of the Demons realized that it wasn't Michael at all. It was Gabriel.

For some reason, the disappointment he felt at that made him feel worse than he already did.

The halftime show that Gabriel helped choreographed was pretty awesome, too. Lucifer had been in orchestra until the day their father left. He quit the next day. Orchestra never had to memorize music while memorize steps to some sort of routine. Marching band was always really cool; he used to love watching Michael march all over the field with a heavy snare or quad drum attached to his shoulders. As the major, he was standing centerfield, on some sort of step stool, ready to conduct.

The crowd was on their feet before the band started playing, but the cheering started only a few notes later when it was recognized as the _Party Rock Anthem_ by LMFAO.

Usually the band moved around a lot while playing. This time, they stood perfectly still, playing the dance song as if they were robots. Until the band yelled, "Shake that" followed by a drum riff and "Every day I'm shuffling."

Then every member of the band put their instruments on the turf, while the drumline gave a riff. Usually they marched. This time they broke it down and started dancing.

It was certainly a great show, but something held Lucifer back. Something didn't allow him to jump to his feet and applaud as Castiel had done. The younger Novak didn't know entirely of his brother's fury. He had never been beaten by Michael, never had a bone broken by him.

Castiel never had to look Michael in the eye as he called him a sinner and told him he had to leave home.

Lucifer got even by clenching his arms in front of his chest, refusing to cheer for the man who ruined his life.

Until Castiel smacked his shoulder. The younger boy had a dark look on his face, and an angry, righteous frown that rivaled the one their mother used to give when she was extremely disappointed in someone's behavior. Castiel poked his brother's chest and commanded, "You clap for your brothers."

Lucifer frowned back. "Michael is no brother of mine."

"You are bigger than him, Lucifer," Castiel stated, but it sounded more like a warning. "And besides, Gabriel deserves your praise. He deserves your love. Even if he joins Michael, he is our brother. They both are. And that should still mean something."

Castiel turned away then, still clapping for his brothers. When Lucifer put his fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle, Castiel would have to know it was him cheering. Either way, he didn't turn back around to praise his brother's good life choices.

But when they sat back down after the show, Castiel held out a packet of Reese's Pieces to him, which Lucifer gladly accepted.

* * *

Dean kind of wished he knew what Castiel did for Lucifer to make three hundred dollars a week before he actually saw him in action. With a bottle of Jameson in him, Dean cared a lot less that Castiel would rest his back against Crowley's knees. He certainly didn't care when Castiel would wiggle against the older boy's knees, which would part, and Castiel would slide his back between them, using Crowley's legs as arm rests.

That seriously seriously didn't bother him.

Though, to be completely fair, it was because when Castiel was leaned back into Crowley, he pulled out his phone and started texting. Some thirteen seconds later, Dean felt his pocket vibrate.

Damn, could his boyfriend sext.

Castiel winked, and Dean was sure he wasn't going to last the whole game.

But even with a bottle of Jameson in him, Dean realized that Castiel left his seat pretty much every ten minutes for the first half of the game. At first he would make some excuse – bathroom, hot chocolate, skittles – but he would walk the long way around. He'd go down the stairs to the left and walk behind the bleachers. It would take him too long to emerge from the other side at the concession stand. Usually, he waved to someone before he left.

But still, Dean wouldn't ask.

Come to find out, he wouldn't need to ask.

The game was about to resume from halftime. Dean had finished his whole bottle, but Castiel didn't like it too much. The older boy was sneaking sips, and Castiel shamelessly flirted as he protested, but Dean knew he didn't care. Lucifer had two more bottles in his bag, but the younger Novak hadn't told Dean to get his own.

In fact, he would lean close, pressing his chest into Dean's arm as he slipped his hand to thread through the older boy's fingers, chin resting on Dean's shoulder. He was so close that all Dean could see were his eyes. He could feel his breath on his neck. His lips murmured their protest against his skin.

So yeah, Castiel totally wanted him.

They rarely touched like this. Never in public, but even in Dean's living room, Castiel never wrapped himself around his arm, clinging to him like he was the only one thing in the world that mattered. The older boy loved the attention, but wasn't surprised when Castiel removed himself from his arm. They were still in public after all. But he _was_ surprised to see the younger boy facing away, looking at a girl who had just sat down next to him.

She had light brown hair, or at least, that was the most recent color her hair was dyed. Darker roots were starting to show. Her biceps were the size of Dean's wrists. One of her legs was folded over the older, and her arms were crossed over her body, making her look even smaller. When Castiel shifted his body to face her, she slid her arms out. One hand went across his shoulders; the other fell to his lap.

Somehow, this girl molesting Castiel made Dean less jealous than Crowley touching his back earlier that day. Maybe it was the complete and utter panic his boyfriend was radiating.

"Jimmy," she breathed, hand cupping around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her. He resisted, eyes wide, trying to stay as far away as possible. "Jimmy, I want."

The heel of her hand pushed down into Castiel's lap. The sound that came from the younger boy was akin to being burned. It was definitely not a moan; it was closer to a yelp. His hips hitched backward, trying to get away, and his hand found Dean's again.

Dean laughed, but not as hard as Crowley. The British boy was practically rolling on the bleachers.

"Karla," Castiel breathed, but that seemed to be as far as his mind could go. She pressed down again, and somehow he found his voice, but it shook with panic. "Fifty, Karla. Like always."

She frowned then, pausing in her movements at Castiel's lap. "I don't have it," she admitted, then resumed her rubbing. She moved her shoulders forward, trying to be seductive Dean would guess, but she looked too much like a skeleton to come across as sexy. He wondered if the girl's hand was getting a rise out of his boyfriend. Then he sort of wondered if _any_ girl could get a rise out of his boyfriend. "But I can pay."

"What?" Castiel couldn't be farther from the girl and still be sitting down on the bleachers. He was practically on Dean's lap as it was.

"She'll fuck you," Crowley translated. "Or blow you, as payment."

"Oh," Castiel said, licking his lips. Then he added, simply, with no hint of thought, "No."

She pouted, turning her head to look at Crowley.

"I don't have any on me, darling."

Karla inched forward, practically on Castiel's lap, and whispered, "Please. I need it. I need it real bad."

Castiel looked terrified, but repeated his answer.

"Sit back, girl. You're scaring the boy," Crowley said with a sigh, like he was the world's best saint. He dug out his wallet, and she sat back on her heels, removing her hand from the younger boy's lap. He suddenly started breathing again. "How much is it, angel?"

"Fifty."

"Fucking fifty? No wonder you turn a two hundred dollar profit every night. I sell for fifteen," Crowley frowned. "I've always sold for fifteen."

"You're an idiot," Castiel offered.

Crowley took out a fifty dollar bill and passed it to Castiel. He stood and pulled out a wad of cash that certainly wasn't there before the game started. After adding it to the bunch, folding it up and putting it away, he reached in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a candy wrapper. He shoved it at Crowley as he sat back down, still closer to Dean than he had been previously.

Crowley's fingers folded around the package and he slipped it in his pocket. He stood and offered his other hand to the girl. "Come on now. Let's have you pay me back for my generous donation." She licked her lips, stood, and took his hand.

Dean watched as he led her down the bleachers, across the rest of the field, and into the woods.

Castiel still looked kind of freaked out at being manhandled by the girl, but he looked mostly normal. Like this was nothing new. The selling part. He was selling…

"What was that?" Dean whispered, looking from the woods to his boyfriend's eyes.

Lucifer stood awkwardly and ran down the bleachers, hiding somewhere by the concession stand until the whole thing was over.

Castiel removed himself from Dean, putting space between the older boy and himself. Their knees just missed touching when Castiel faced him, hands folded together in his lap. Dean wasn't angry, but his heart was pounding in his ribcage in the same panicked way that it did when Sam fell off his bike or wanted to stay over at a friend's house. The pure terror of the thought of not being able to protect him.

Castiel looked like he was debating. A frown caused his eyebrows to wrinkle and his fingers spread in his lap. He stared at them another moment, sighed, then looked up at Dean. "I sell drugs for Lucifer."

The younger boy paused, like he was waiting for Dean to say something. When the older boy just stared at him with an expectant face, Castiel continued. "You were feeding me every night. You were already taking care of Sam, and then I came into the picture and I didn't have any money to help. I heard Lucifer was going to start selling drugs to make money for his gang. I asked him if I could run for him." He paused again, looking down. "Three or so times a week I sit in the playground and sell drugs to people."

He stopped again, before adding. "I'm really good at it."

"What drugs?" Dean suddenly demanded. "Your prescriptions?"

"No," Castiel whispered, still staring at his hands. "No, I need those. Crowley has a supplier. I sell whatever pills we have to spare and the other guy provides pot and heroin. Karla wanted heroin."

Castiel saw Dean grip his wrist before he felt it. When he did, he was surprised that the calloused skin actually caused him pain. He was gripping too tight. Castiel raised his eyes to look at Dean.

"Heroin, Cas? Seriously? That's a serious drug. That's like a _go-to-jail-if-you're-caught-with-it_ drug," Dean tugged his wrist closer to him and ignored the pained look that shot across his boyfriend's face. "It's dangerous. You could get hurt."

"That's why Lucifer had Balthazar give me the knife," Castiel whispered, like he had thought this whole thing through and was being judged and yelled at for a reckless decision. Which, true, he sort of was.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean sounded hurt, and Castiel's breath caught in his throat.

"You never asked me. Sam asked. I told him."

Dean opened his mouth to say something but Castiel beat him to it.

"I'm helping people," Castiel frowned. "I helped us – me, you, and Sam – there's over a thousand dollars in our jar now from my money. We aren't going to go hungry. And I'm helping Lucifer get money for whatever stupid plan he comes up with next. As long as he isn't thinking about how his twin brother broke his arm and threw him out of the house… that's a win. Trust me – he is better angry than depressed. And the people I sell to. I help them get relief, Dean."

"Oh yeah, that Karla chick looked like she was at the best point in her life," Dean snapped. "Fucking Crowley in the woods for drugs. Cas, you are killing the people you sell to."

Castiel's jaw visibly shut and clenched. His eyes narrowed, like somehow Dean hit a raw nerve. He turned away, facing the game with his arms folded over his chest. Dean thought it was over, that the silent treatment would start until he gave in and apologized. But Castiel surprised him by muttering, "What is the point of living at all if you can't do what makes you happy?"

Dean frowned too, but didn't say anything. He was still trying to come up with a response when he saw Lucifer taking the bleachers two at a time back up to them. The blond boy sat behind his younger brother and reached out to him, rubbing his shoulders before raking his fingers through his hair. Castiel shifted, angry and unresponsive, as if it was all Lucifer's fault.

But after a few minutes, Dean saw Castiel relax out of the corner of his eye. He sighed and leaned back into his brother's legs, tipping his head back to give his brother better access to his hair. When Dean dared a look at Lucifer's face, he was surprised to see him looking at Dean. His eyes were big and sad, his face apologetic. Begging. Begging Dean not to be mad at Castiel.

Dean just sighed, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the open bleachers.

The older boy couldn't really tell what he was feeling. Pissed a bit, sure. Drunk for sure. Scared more than anything else. But was he pissed at Castiel for selling drugs – something illegal and thus, morally wrong – or is he pissed at himself that Castiel even needed to do that? That Dean couldn't provide for his family without the dangerous job. All arguments could be solved by figuring out one key element: whose fault was it?

Castiel didn't sell drugs before they met. They started dating. He started selling. The common denominator was Dean.

The older boy was working out his apology and his speech begging Castiel to stop running. They had enough money now, it was dangerous, it was illegal. He heard the Novaks whispering to each other, giggling, and Dean noticed that Crowley was walking out of the woods. The girl wasn't with him. She probably stayed back to… how does a person take heroin?

When Crowley started climbing the bleachers, a shit-eating grin was plastered on his face. He started making a show of adjusting his tie and straightening his jacket. When he was halfway to the bleachers, Lucifer said, "Sometimes…"

Castiel answered with a vocalized note, something close to, "Aaa-oo-OO-oh."

Lucifer continued, "… something beautiful happens in this world…"

"Aaaaaakon."

"…And you don't know how to express yourself so…"

"And Lonely Island!"

"…You gotta to sing."

At that point, Crowley knew the reference. Dean rarely did when it came to the brothers, but Crowley was grinning from ear to ear. He stopped at the top of the bleachers, proving whatever pills he took paired with the Jameson and sex was making him loosen up. He did a weird dance and sang the chorus along with Lucifer and Castiel.

"I just had sex and it felt so good!"

People were looking up at them. Lucifer and Castiel were dancing now too – completely carefree in a way Dean hadn't ever been, really – even when Castiel gave him the drugs the night they got together. Lucifer was letting his little brother sell drugs on the street. He didn't look the type to put Castiel in danger, especially not when he tried so hard to cheer him up and keep them together.

It was hard to look at the eighteen year old blond boy – who was currently dancing similarly to a thirteen year old girl alone in her room with the hilarious pelvic thrusting – and think that he was even capable of running a gang or that the idea of selling drugs ever came into his mind.

It made it really _really_ hard for Dean to be pissed at Lucifer. And despite how angry he wanted to be, he found himself smiling at three friends dancing and singing by him. He'd talk to Castiel later. This had to be some sort of misunderstanding.

* * *

It wasn't some kind of misunderstanding.

As soon as they had gotten back to the Winchester home after the game, Castiel put the night's profits into the envelope with his name on it. If Dean hadn't been there when Castiel counted out half and pushed two hundred at Lucifer, he would have never believed that the younger boy made close to five hundred dollars selling drugs at a football game. But, like Castiel said, he was good at what he did.

Once his boyfriend entered the bathroom and the water started, Dean turned his attention on his younger brother.

"You fucking knew?" He demanded.

Used to Dean's demands, Sam accepted his brother's outburst with a grain of salt. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and handed it out to Dean. The older boy took it, but crossed his arms, frowning. Sam sighed, "Knew what?"

"What he does for Lucifer to make money. I found out at the game and when I asked why he didn't tell me, he told me it was because I didn't ask. He said you asked and he said he told you. Why the hell wouldn't you tell me that, Sammy?"

Sam frowned. "He never told me…" Dean looked more hurt than angry, so Sam figured he could at least try to remember the night Castiel came home and asked for an envelope. He was weird that night – overly medicated, Dean would call it – but not stressed out. So it wasn't amphetamines. And he was happy, too. Sam remembered that. He remembered that he was pissed, though, because he thought Castiel had ditched him, had ditched _them_ and found new friends.

He remembered asking what he had to do to make a hundred dollars in such a short time.

Sam smirked, "He never told me, Dean. I asked and he made a joke." Dean looked up at him all expectantly, and Sam rolled his eyes. "He told me he sold drugs."

The way Dean's face morphed actually scared Sam. It was like three hundred emotions were pushing to the surface trying to claim Dean's face, but each one was falling prematurely to a new one. Anger was there. Terror even more so. He let out a breath of air that made it seem like he had been hit by a car.

"Dean," Sam frowned. "Cas doesn't really sell drugs."

Dean frowned back at him.

"Right, Dean? Castiel doesn't really sell drugs for Lucifer… right? Lucifer… he'd… he wouldn't sell drugs," and suddenly, Sam was more furious than Dean was.

Castiel took a longer shower than usual, and with the extra time, Dean had to actually shove Sam away from the door where he was trying to storm out to give Lucifer a piece of his mind. Dean didn't realize Sam cared about Castiel that much. They threatened murder. They threatened intervention. But when the dark haired boy appeared at the bottom of the stairs in jeans and a t-shirt, toilet paper pushed into the crook of his elbow to stop the bleeding, their threats died in their mouths.

Castiel's eyes were fighting to stay open – the way it did sometimes after he took a shot of insulin, Dean noticed – but the visible pupils from under his heavy eyelids were livid. Furious.

"Everything I've done, I did for you," he frowned, jaw set. He looked down at his arm, pulling the paper away. He noticed he was still bleeding and pushed it back on, anger faltering slightly.

"Stop selling," Dean said. Sam winced at the tone of his voice. He wasn't begging – hell, he wasn't even asking – that was his demanding voice. Stop or else.

The fury sparked again, and Castiel spat, "No."

"Cas, look –"

"No, Dean. You look. When we met, you didn't have enough money to buy your brother a bag of chips from a vending machine. In two months, we've managed to put away three thousand dollars. How could you possibly look this gift horse in the mouth?" Castiel's eyes narrowed; Sam was surprised that Dean lost some fury at the jab. "I sell drugs at the playground down the street after school. I'm not in a city. I don't do it after dark. I'm not really in danger. You can't ask me to just sit around and do nothing all day. It isn't fair."

Dean didn't nod, didn't move. His cheeks were tinged pink with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

"Lucifer shouldn't ask that of you," Sam said. "He shouldn't be selling drugs at all. He should…"

Castiel looked back down at his arm. His voice grew quieter, like he really didn't want to say it, but felt it was necessary. "I don't think you are in the best position to pass judgment on my brother, considering where he lives right now and why he cannot go home."

Dean looked like he wanted to say something to that, but the way Sam flared with regret made the older brother think this was something between the two of them and none of his business for now.

"Besides, Sam, the drugs aren't the worse of Lucifer's money making schemes. You should know what he's capable of by now."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Castiel beat him to it.

"If you want me to leave, I understand. I can stay with Crowley."

"Fuck Crowley!" Dean snapped.

Castiel continued, "Or I could probably go home. Even though I did publicly equate myself with Lucifer today, I don't think Michael knows I'm a sodomite. He hasn't tried beating the gay out of me, yet, anyway. He still may let _me_ live at home with my brothers."

Sam wasn't sure if the jab was meant to make him or Dean feel guilty, but it appeared to be a double blow. They both hung their heads.

"It's just dangerous, Cas," Dean said. "And illegal."

"It's illegal for you to drink that," Castiel gestured to the beer in Dean's hands. "Or do you only follow the laws that are convenient for you?"

Dean sighed with a curse, but kept the neck of the beer in his hands.

"Do you want me to leave?" Castiel asked, because it was easier than asking if they were breaking up.

"Fuck, Cas. No. We don't want you to leave," Dean opened the beer. "You just… we worry. That's all. Right, Sammy?"

Sam sighed, conceding because his brother made him. Sure, he was kind of upset to learn his best friend was selling drugs. It didn't compare to the disappointment he felt that Lucifer was becoming his name. After everything Sam said to get him to try to be better, he was just going to fall into his _I'm-named-for-the-devil_ excuse.

He tried to throw Castiel a sympathetic look before he took off to his room and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Dean was a vanilla kind of guy. He really was. He wasn't into bondage or any sort of fetish, really. Three months ago, he would have sworn up and down he wasn't gay and would claim that the ass was a one-way street. But sometimes, Castiel just _did_ things that drove him completely wild.

Okay, he'd wanted to jump Castiel for a week before the piano thing, but Dean didn't even know he liked the piano before the younger boy surprised him. It was an excuse, but fuck was it hot when he played. Dean certainly didn't find knives appealing at all in a sexual way, but when Castiel did that spy move, he actually thought about getting on some kink website with topless girls playing with dangerous weapons to see if it was the knife or his boyfriend that made him so hot and bothered.

He didn't though. And now he knew the answer. There was no way he was going to Google "emo twink drug dealer" and find any porn better than this. Seriously. Dean was hiding behind a shed across the park from the swing Castiel was sitting on. The leather seat pushed his hips together, which pushed his knees together, and it made his toes point inward as they scraped across the ground. He had on jeans and one of Dean's t-shirts; the white bandana was tied around his thigh.

He wasn't doing anything. His hands held on to the metal chains – making him look younger than he was – and he was looking down at the dirt he was kicking up with his toes.

Dean took the day off to see if Castiel was actually lying about being a drug dealer. Last night he cuddled to Dean's chest as the older boy was reading _Cat's Cradle_ for English (the best book he'd ever read in his life, let alone for English class) and read with him. It was bizarrely intimate, the two of them reading silently from the same paperback copy that Dean held out in front of them. (Castiel had just finished _Catcher in the Rye_ and asked Dean if he could read with him to get that atrocity out of his brain. He was the only person Dean knew who didn't like that book).

Anyway, at one point, Castiel spoke up. He asked Dean if he wanted to go with him to the playground to sell, just to see how not-dangerous it was. He said he was going to try and sell what he had left so he wouldn't have to work over break. Crowley's next shipment would come in when he got back from Europe. He was leaving on Friday (the day after tomorrow), and for some reason, he wanted to give Crowley the rest of the money before his flight took off.

Dean had said no thanks, but called into work the second he got away from Castiel for a minute. He wanted to see him in action.

And he was right. He was so fucking good at what he did.

Which was mostly nothing. He didn't leave the swing for an hour, but every few minutes someone would sit on the swing next to him. They'd chat a little bit, the other person might swing. Then Castiel would dig in his pocket and take something out. They'd shake hands and somehow, they'd pass the money and drugs between them. The other person would get up and walk away and Castiel would pocket the profit.

He really wasn't doing anything. But _fuck_ if nothing made Dean want to jump him right now.

The days were getting shorter and around seven it was getting dark. He would be getting out of work in an hour, normally, so Castiel must think he had an hour to get the money to Crowley and get back home to start helping Sam cook dinner. Dean snuck around the park the long way and approached the swing his boyfriend was on from behind.

Dean saw Castiel tense as he felt someone approach, but he didn't turn around to look. It seemed dangerous to not be able to see who could be approaching from behind, Dean thought, and planned on giving him hell for it later. Before he had fully formulated what he was going to do, he had reached Castiel. His hands slid out to grip the metal chains on either side of his boyfriend's hips. He pulled and stepped back, and the younger boy gripped tighter and gave a startled noise from deep in his throat. He turned around to look at who grabbed him, but Dean let go. The seat surged forward before Castiel got a look at his boyfriend.

"Dean," he breathed. The older boy wondered how it was possible for Castiel to convey so many emotions in one word, in just his name. Dean felt his heart swell.

"Hey Cas," Dean's fingers pushed on Castiel's back, propelling him further. "How goes the sales?"

"Good. I only have one joint left before I'm finished," Castiel turned to face him as Dean sat down on the swing next to him. His eyes were bright and wide. He didn't look overly medicated. In fact, he looked more sober than Dean remembered seeing him in a long time.

"How much they go for?"

"I jacked the prices as soon as I started," Castiel admitted, letting his swing lose momentum to match Dean's pace. "On a good night I sell them for twenty dollars. Most people sell for ten. I think Crowley used to sell for five sometimes. But I'm the only dealer in the suburbs. It's usually worth ten more dollars than risk getting knifed from a dealer in the city."

Dean nodded, surprised Castiel was offering the information. But then again, Dean did ask. Maybe that was all it took.

"Have you ever smoked pot?"

Castiel looked over at him again and paused for a moment, like he was trying to think of the best words. It was refreshing. When he had too much Adderall in him, he either blurted anything in his head or he became super focused on something (usually the piano) and it was impossible to get him to leave it alone to do normal human things like sleep or eat.

"Yes," he finally answered. "With Crowley and Lucifer. My brother... Crowley thinks he may be bipolar, if not something more serious like schizophrenic. Sometimes he's really good, especially if he's around a lot of people. But his downs are awful. He… hurts himself and…" Castiel looked away. "Sometimes, the marijuana helps."

Dean looked down at his toes. He never knew that about Lucifer before. He'd seen him sometimes, like at the Halloween party, staring like Castiel at a spot on the wall. He'd be happy and drinking one minute, sulking into his drink in the next. He was raising a gang to slowly corrupt the youth of the town to get even with his enemy. A normal person would respond with more immediate violence.

Fuck, if Michael had broken Castiel's arm, Dean would have broken Michael's face.

"What's it like?"

Castiel looked back over at Dean like wasn't sure how to read the question. In all fairness, it didn't come out of his mouth the way it sounded in his head. Curiosity was tinged slightly with awe. Castiel smiled.

"It's like everything is multiplied by zero," Castiel said with a straight face. "Everything is not and it is at the same time. I remember one time, we were sitting on the back steps of the Church and you were working. I tried to reach out to you, like I closed my eyes and tried to feel my soul and God's grace within me push to find you across town. Like we had some sort of divine bond. And I swear I felt you squeeze back."

Castiel looked down, like now that he was sober and he said it out loud it was embarrassing and foolish. But Dean felt something wrap around his heart and squeeze. Love. So fucking powerful that it really did feel like someone else's soul or grace or whatever was reaching out and claiming him.

It was beautiful. So beautiful it hurt and he needed it now.

"So you don't trade your drugs for sex when they can't pay?"

Castiel hummed, "No. I sell drugs for money for us. If I accepted sex as payment there would be no money and no us. That seems counterproductive."

Dean loved soberish Castiel. Dean smiled at him and adored the timid, hesitant smile he got in return. It wasn't too big and too out there. It was vulnerable, like he wasn't sure that it was the right way to do it.

"You won't make one exception?" He reached out his hand and placed it over Castiel's on the metal chain. He loosened his grip and moved his fingers to thread through the younger boy's. "For me?"

"Dean," Castiel breathed again.

"C'mon, Cas. You can spare twenty bucks, right?" Dean smiled but Castiel frowned.

"It's a school night. Your brother will be home and…"

"How often do you smoke it?" Dean demanded, but suddenly wished he hadn't. Asking meant honesty, and if it was a once-and-a-while thing, it wouldn't be so bad. He somehow had a feeling it was more than that.

"Probably three times a week on average," Castiel admitted. "But I only smoke it with Lucifer and Crowley. I never go off on my own to get it. And I never actually _crave_ it… and that sounds like I'm making excuses." He rubbed the back of his head. "I'm sorry, Dean… I should be better for you."

Dean pushed himself off the swing, stepping with the momentum he didn't quite judge properly. Castiel looked up at him, amused. Dean offered his hand. Castiel took it without question and allowed himself to be pulled from the seat. The older boy's hands left Castiel's instantly, aiming instead to rub at his shoulders and chest, a grin on his face.

"Jimmy," Dean breathed, mimicking the voice he knew Castiel loved when his throat was wrecked from sex. The name seemed foreign on his tongue – Castiel was everything Jimmy wasn't, especially loyal to his family – but he knew it was the name his boyfriend used to distinguish his work from his home life. And Dean wanted to blur that line. "Please, Jimmy… I want."

"Dean," Castiel's hands were shaking when they clenched Dean's shoulders, steadying himself.

There were trees on the other side of the shed Dean was hiding behind earlier. He clenched his boyfriend's hand and dragged, mouth bypassing his brain as he walked. "You're the sexy dealer and I'm the tweaking junkie," he murmured, just loud enough for Castiel to hear. "I can't pay but you don't mind me using my mouth to pay off my debt. Do you, Jimmy?"

He pushed the boy against the shed, giving a quick look around to make sure nobody could see them before his hands dropped to Castiel's pants and unbuttoned them.

Castiel licked his lips, eyes opening a sliver. Dean thought he was going to protest, insist on the money, but instead, he said, "Crowley had sex with that girl. You should let me fuck you."

Dean's eyebrows rose impossibly high, like maybe he was thinking about it, when Castiel tried pulling him in for a kiss. The older boy dodged it easily by sinking to his knees. "That girl had a fifty dollar bag of heroin. I'm getting one little joint."

Castiel's fingers ran through Dean's hair and gave a small noise of frustration that his hair hadn't grown long enough to grip on to since the last time they did this less than a week ago. Dean answered the noise by pushing his palm into Castiel's lap.

"This is a fair trade, right?"

Castiel nodded. Dean easily worked Castiel's fly down before letting him out. He pushed the younger boy's hips firmly against shed. He worked quickly, aware of every rustle of bushes or dog barking a yard away. It didn't help that Castiel was louder out in the open than he was in the bedroom – or at least – that's how it seemed to Dean who very much didn't want to get caught.

Castiel gave a warning, a low growl "Dean," but Dean kept going. It was over in an embarrassingly short amount of time, but that was the point. And Castiel was quick to readjust himself and lean his head against the shed as he came down.

As an afterthought, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a joint. He shook hands with Dean, the way the older boy had watched him all night, before it was in Dean's hand and then his pocket.

Then Castiel started to leave, walking back toward the Winchester house.

"Cas?" Dean looked around before gesturing to himself like of course he wasn't going to try and walk down the street with a raging hard-on and it was Castiel's job to fix it. "What about me?"

"I don't think," Oh shit, that was the cheeky smile Dean so loved to hate, "that the runner typically reciprocates in a deal such as ours. You don't know what kind of diseases tweaking junkies have. It's dangerous."

A small part of him really appreciated Castiel's joke. But most of him seemed to be suffering less blood than normal because it was all pooling somewhere else.

"Castiel," Dean warned. But it sounded more like begging than warning, honestly. The narcissist named for an angel loved hearing the sound of all three syllables on Dean's lips. Which is exactly why Dean rarely used them. To keep it exciting.

"Ooh," Castiel grinned. "I must be in trouble if you're using my full name." Dean frowned, and Castiel walked back toward him. "Are you going to share it with me?"

"Duh. What the fuck's the point of getting high if it's not with…" Castiel's hands pushed Dean against the shed, maybe a little more roughly than Dean had pushed him. He kissed Dean's neck as he popped the button and pushed down Dean's fly.

"Well, then I should probably pay for half, right?" Castiel grinned against Dean's lips before sinking to his knees.

Dean closed his eyes and thanked God that Castiel was running for his brother. This was seriously worth it.

* * *

It wasn't so weird that Dean and Castiel weren't home when Sam got home from youth group with Michael. Of course, youth with Michael was all sorts of awkward after coming from fighting practice. Even though he won, and his eye looked mostly normal after the fight, Ruby was riding his ass pretty hard. Sam was too exhausted to giggle at his own joke.

Lucifer wasn't around much today. That first day after he found out Lucifer was letting Castiel sell drugs for him, Sam confronted their fearless leader. It wasn't much more of a "what were you thinking, you idiot?" with a _I'm-furious-and-not-speaking-to-you-ever-again_ accent added to flare up his usual bitchface.

Lucifer looked disappointed and conflicted. He hadn't really been at practice since. On occasion, Sam saw Crowley pushing Lucifer out the back door – half comatose – with a pack of cigarettes in his hand. That'd piss the younger boy off all over again, but he really planned on apologizing to Lucifer today.

He never got the chance. Lucifer hid in his room all day.

And after that, Michael's little segment on _Loving Thy Neighbor_ (unless of course by neighbor you mean the guy you shared a womb with. Then you love him conditionally and when you find out he tried to kiss one dude one time, you kick him out of the house and break his arm) wasn't quite the same.

He didn't know who was right in this stupid, petty war, but if they didn't talk it out soon, Sam was going to suggest they either fight with their fists or get out a ruler so their stupid dick measuring contest would be over.

Anyway, Dean should still be working and Castiel was probably still selling drugs in the park because apparently this whole time that wasn't a joke. Sam stood at the refrigerator, looking over the food they had left.

It wasn't much, but he and Castiel were going shopping for their Thanksgiving stuff tomorrow, so he could just add more to the list, especially now that they had money like it grew on a tree. Or at least a marijuana plant because apparently, his best friend really did sell drugs. Sam still half thought it was a joke. How could Castiel really sell drugs?

What was Dean going to want?

When he heard laughing coming from outside, he looked out the window over the sink.

It was pitch black outside already. The moon made it light enough so he could make out the outlines in the yard, but he couldn't make out their features. It took a second to untangle the two blobs of human in his mind and figure out what part went with who.

Eventually, he realized that Castiel was sitting up and Dean was sitting between his knees, resting his back against the smaller boy's chest. Dean pointed up at the stars, before letting his hand fall, catching it in Castiel's hair on his way down. Castiel lit something in his mouth – must be a cigarette – before blowing a puff of smoke out.

In the millisecond the lighter was on, Sam noticed how freaking schmoopy Dean looked.

Sam couldn't help but smile because after all Castiel may be a drug dealer, but he did do it for them, and he did make Dean happy. And if nothing else, Dean deserved to be happy.

The younger Winchester started dinner.

When it was done, Sam walked out the back door to get the boys. If he showed up in person, they might feel guilty for all their lovey-dovey cuddling and not touch each other through dinner. When he saw them, he pulled out his phone and went into stealth mode.

They had moved to the hammock under the big tree in their back yard. Dean was on his back and Castiel was curled next to and half on top of him. His brother had an arm wrapped around the smaller boy's shoulder, and Castiel's hand rested over Dean's heart.

Sam snapped a picture, and the flashed caused Castiel's eyes to flutter open.

He smiled at Sam, a friendly declaration of recognition before he tried snuggling closer to Dean's neck. So fucking adorable.

Sam almost hated to reach out his hand and shake his brother, "Hey, guys. Dinner's ready."

"Wha's it?" Dean mumbled, turning his head to burrowing his face in Castiel's hair.

Sam snapped another picture. "I put in our last box of Bagel Bites for you and me, and I made French Toast for Cas because there was ham on the pizza."

Castiel sat up and started the process of getting himself out of the hammock without tumbling Dean out with him. His brother didn't help. He just threw himself from the contraption, consequences be damned.

"I was going to suggest we go to Taco Bell," Dean said, practically racing Castiel to the back door. "But I fucking love Bagel Bites."

Dean apparently did, though he didn't usually like tacos all that much, so that was weird. After Dean consumed his, he eyeballed Sam's food like a dog. The younger boy was tempted to throw one on the ground just to see if Dean would eat it off the floor.

Castiel was shoving the food in his mouth – he never ate fast – and was groaning through mouthfuls about how great it was.

At one point, Castiel stopped eating and took a big gulp of his milk that he apparently just discovered was sitting in front of him. Once he sat it down, Sam noticed that his brother's boyfriend was staring at him with such intense focus, the younger boy started to squirm.

"I love you, Sam," he suddenly declared, like he wasn't sure he was going to wake up tomorrow and needed to let all his feelings out on the table right that second. Sam figured they were drunk. They got like that sometimes, and once Castiel was allowed to supplement his alcohol with his pills so he wouldn't get sick in the morning, he actually liked drinking. Either way, Sam felt his neck burning with embarrassment.

"I love Sam, too." Dean added, like they just discovered some new thing they both loved and could bond over. Sam sighed. He said it like Sam wasn't sitting across from the table either. Fucking weirdos.

"Alright, I'm cutting you off," Sam emptied his and Dean's empty plates into the kitchen sink. "You've had enough. No more drinking on school nights, you too."

Before Sam marched upstairs, he spared a glace back. Castiel put a bite of the French Toast on his fork and held it out to Dean. The older boy ate it, giving an appreciative hum, before Castiel took another bite of his dinner.

Love, Sam decided, was giving your food to someone else because they were hungrier than you. He walked upstairs, smiling, half planning Dean and Castiel's wedding on the way.

* * *

"Good night, boys," Michael said as he pulled the covers up over Gabriel's shoulders. The younger boy argued that he certainly didn't need the baby treatment, but the way he smiled at his older brother as he pushed the hair off the younger boy's forehead said differently. Michael moved to do the same to Balthazar. He put up more of a fight, but eventually, he too succumbed to Michael's natural charm and easy love.

Easy since Lucifer left anyway.

Michael flipped the light off. The glow from the hallway fell on Gabriel, who snuggled into his bed. His eyes were shut, a warm smile plastered on his face. Balthazar's face was hidden in the shadows, but his posture gave him away. The youngest Novaks were happy.

"May the Lord be with you," Michael said as he pulled the door closed as he exited the room.

Before the door latched, he heard them both reply, "And also with you."

Then the door was latched, and Michael was alone in the hall. Like every night, he checked Castiel's room. Like every night, he wasn't there. The air in the room was stale – he hadn't been back – and it didn't seem likely he would return. Of course, he wasn't living with Lucifer, and that was Michael's little ounce of saving grace. He was with the Winchesters. He would be _safe_ with the Winchesters.

Michael climbed the stairs two at a time.

There were four rooms on the second floor of the Novak house. The first door on the right led to Zachariah's room. The door was open, and the light spilled in from the hallway, but his eldest brother wasn't inside. The next door on the right was a bathroom. The door at the far end of the hall was their parent's room. It was as still and abandoned as Castiel's room, as cold as Lucifer's side of Michael's room.

He didn't bother to knock at the only door on the left. He just turned the handle and pushed his way into Uriel and Raphael's room.

The twins were sitting on their beds. Unlike Michael and Lucifer or Balthazar and Gabriel who had their beds as far from each other as possible, Uriel and Raphael's beds were placed in the center of the room, each against an opposite wall. The front half of the room was Raphael's, covered in posters of bands he liked. The back half was Uriel's, filled with half naked women. The twins had every inch of their walls covered; it was a stark contrast to every other brother in the Novak house who pretty much kept their walls white.

Uriel nodded a greeting to his younger brother, but kept playing the song. Raphael was facing away from Michael, toward Uriel, singing along. Zachariah was at Raphael's laptop, frowning at the screen like it held some great mystery he couldn't quite solve. Michael looked over his shoulder. He was checking his Facebook.

" _You had a lot of crooks trying to steal your heart. You never really had luck, could never figure out how to love… how to love."_

"Brothers," Michael started, flopping down on Raphael's bed. "We need to discuss the next part of the plan to save the youth of Lawrence before we fall asleep."

" _I just want you to know,"_ Raphael turned to Michael, embellishing his song, singing it at his younger brother. _"You deserve the best, you're beautiful."_

Uriel whispered, _"You're beautiful."_

"Brothers," Michael whined. The older boys laughed, but Uriel set his guitar down on the floor and turned to face his brother. Zachariah turned around in the chair, tipping it back and resting his hands on his stomach. He grinned at them, and Michael huffed.

"Chill out, Mikey," Raphael grabbed his brother's shoulder, pulling him back on the bed, holding him down. Uriel laughed, big and deep in his belly like he used to before. Before dad left. Back when they were kids. "Shouldn't we finally have some fun? You're eighteen, brother. Go out with your friends. Live a little."

Michael frowned, "We have work to do, brothers. God's work to do. We can't be messing around, acting like children."

Uriel rolled his eyes, but lied on his stomach facing his brother. His arms came to rest under his head and he smiled. "Okay, oh great one. On our end, things are going well," Raphael nodded in agreement. "We've got a couple of kids in your grade who are very persuasive, in case some of the sheep try to stray from the path."

"And a couple of kids that graduated with us," Raphael added. "Who found drugs before they found Jesus."

Uriel smirked.

Michael frowned, but turned to Zachariah. "And what of you, brother? How did you get so many to wear black at the game?"

"I am very persuasive, too, Michael," Zachariah drummed his fingers on his stomach. "Children are easy. They believe in things all the time that they cannot see. Santa, the Easter Bunny. Teenagers are hardly different. Their fantasies are just more evolved. Besides, I deliver them to you. You preach the word."

Michael frowned, looking into his hands in his lap. He remembered when he was so filled with grace, when he felt God's warmth shining on him as a constant ray. Now, it had dulled. Yet in his doubt he did seem to deliver the most convincing of sermons.

"You need to believe in yourself, brother," Zachariah stood from the chair, crossing the bedroom to kneel beside his brother on the bed. "You knew this day would come. You were named for the angel who had to cast his brother out. It is your destiny, as it is ours to follow your word. We are your warriors, but you must lead us in the attack against Lucifer. You must tell us what to do."

Michael looked up and suddenly the twins weren't laughing anymore. They weren't joking. They looked serious and concerned. They looked ready and brave and faithful.

The youngest brother nodded then. Uriel smiled, a small, reassuring thing, and Michael spoke, "We need to come up with a way to stop Lucifer from spreading his sin all over town."

* * *

Sam was putting away the groceries by himself. Any other day, Castiel would be more than willing to help, but today he couldn't really get off the couch. After school, he took the drug money from the night before to Crowley. Because today was the last day of school before Thanksgiving Break started, the fighters weren't required to be at the Church, so Sam walked home to wait for Castiel.

Once Crowley and Castiel searched through the drug cabinet and saw that only the Oxycodone was left, the older boy was really pleased. He handed a balloon of heroin from his private stash over as a bonus on a job well done.

Or, he sort of did. He held it out, but when Castiel grabbed for it, Crowley pulled it back. "Gimme a kiss. One kiss, angel. You'll never find a better deal than that."

Castiel just laughed.

"Yeah, I figured you wouldn't," Crowley admitted. He held it out, and this time Castiel took it. "But it was worth a shot, yeah?"

Castiel put his backpack on the table, fishing out his diabetic kit. He was cooking the drug over the candle when he added, "I hope you have fun in London."

"Bollocks to London," Crowley had seen the younger boy do it a dozen times, but he still watched with morbid fascination. "But I'll have fun drinking absinthe in Paris. I'll smuggle some back for us. Get you properly fucked up with the best shit. Then you won't be able to resist me."

Castiel filled the needle, smiling. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

"That's more than you usually take," Crowley frowned, leaning closer look at the lines on the syringe.

Castiel shrugged. "Aren't we celebrating?"

The silence that filled the kitchen while Castiel shot up was strangely comfortable considering. It was like the younger boy stopped talking because he was tying his shoe or some other mundane task. He blew out the candle, put everything away, and leaned his arms against the island, taking a deep breath.

"Wow," was all he said. The older boy couldn't even tell if it was a good _wow_ or a bad _wow._

"Maybe I can score some methadone and bring it back for you," Crowley probably meant it as a joke, but it his voice was dripping with concern.

"Oh, go fuck your –" Castiel's knees gave out and he crumbled to the floor.

The next few hours were mostly blank to Castiel. He remembered opening his eyes and seeing Crowley kneeling beside him, fingers pressing into his neck searching for a pulse. His other hand was in front of Castiel's mouth, monitoring for shallow breathing. He remembered the panic in Crowley's voice when he said the word "hospital" and he remembered begging Crowley to take him home.

A little while later, he remembered Crowley trying to shake him awake outside the Winchester house.

Then there was Sam helping Crowley drag him to the couch. Sam tried to set him down gently, but the older boy was carrying more of his weight and dropped him almost like he was mad. Castiel remembered laughing as his body flopped down on the couch.

He remembered Crowley telling Sam to keep him awake. If he fell asleep and Sam couldn't wake him, he should call the ambulance.

Sam was screaming out the door as Crowley drove away. "What the fuck did you do to him?"

His eyes opened and they were in a store. Castiel was pushing the cart, and Sam was loading it up with stuff for Thanksgiving. Sam was talking a mile a minute, the way scared people do, but Castiel couldn't understand his words.

He didn't even remember getting back to the Winchester's house.

And that was why Castiel was laying on the couch, not helping Sam put the groceries away.

It was a strange high. It was like half his brain was scared and trying to chase away the drug. Fighting it. Some moments he remembered with striking clarity. The way Sam kept peeking out from the kitchen to make sure Castiel wasn't asleep. The look on Sam's face when he asked if he was feeling better, and when Castiel tried to say yes, his vocal chords worked for the first time in an hour.

He remembered the moment that Dean burst into the room with clarity. His hair was a mess; his eyes were wide and red. He started unbuttoning his shirt the second he got in the doorway. If he saw Castiel at all, he didn't say anything.

The panic in his voice as he yelled, "Sam!?" sent shivers down Castiel's spine. Apparently it did to Sam, too, because the younger Winchester ran to the living room. Dean's fingers finally mastered the buttons on his shirt and he threw it angrily in the chair.

"What is it, Dean?" Sam asked.

"Dad's been arrested!" Dean threw his phone down on top of his shirt, as if the messenger was the one to blame. Castiel couldn't pick out the predominate emotion in Dean's voice when he added, "…again." but he figured it was either worry or fury.

"On what grounds?" Sam asked as Dean ran up the stairs.

The older boy's voice was muffled as he yelled from the floor above, "A fucking whole bunch of charges. Drunk and disorderly. Assault of some kind. Resisting arrest. I think some other minor ones, too. He's been booked and processed," Castiel heard the feet stomping back down the stairs and the voice getting louder. Dean was still pulling a nice green sweater over his head as he rounded the corner. He looked good in it, and it was sad the only time the older boy thought to wear something nice was when he had to get his dad out of trouble.

"They just had his bail hearing."

"Bail hearing?" Sam asked. "He's got two kids at home. They always let him out without bail. He's always gone to his hearings – he isn't a flight risk."

"Well I think they've figured out that he doesn't do much for us anymore," Dean frowned, walking to the kitchen. Sam rushed after him and Castiel stood on shaky legs to follow. When Castiel made it, supporting himself on the refrigerator, he watched as Dean dug through their money, counting out what he and Sam had.

"Fuck," from this close, Castiel could see that Dean was shaking. He wiped his face – presumably tears – on the back of his hand and looked at his brother. "We're not even fucking _close_."

"Use mine," Castiel said, voice weak from his not-quite overdose. His heartbeat was still slow and his breathing depressed, but at least he seemed conscious now.

Dean looked at him, his eyes trying to keep the tears from spilling. He looked for a minute, like he was going to say all the too-proud, no-handouts lines Castiel had heard him spew before, but instead he frowned.

"What's wrong with you?"

"We'll talk about him later," Sam said, throwing Castiel a pissed off look. Castiel felt like a kid getting in trouble by his mom. But then Sam had his hands on the fat envelope with Castiel's name on it and it was dropped for the time being. He made quick work of counting the money.

"He's got twenty five hundred. Between the three of us we've got thirty four," Sam looked up at Dean. "That's gotta be enough, right?"

The tears started falling, angry and damning over Dean's freckles.

"Bail's set at forty thousand."

"Forty…" Sam started, the small pile of money fall to the counter. "A bond broker could…"

"Yeah," Dean said. "I called one on my way. We pay ten percent, but we won't get it back. So we still need to come up with six hundred dollars immediately. I asked Bobby, but he puts everything in that stupid shop. He can hardly pay me. Plus I think he likes the idea of dad rotting in jail for everything he's done to us. Says it'll do him good."

"Even if we come up with six hundred dollars… how are we going to eat for the rest of the week? He –" Sam nudged his head in Castiel's direction " – was so messed up in the store we didn't have a whole ton of time to get much _food_ food. We just got Thanksgiving stuff."

"I can get it," Castiel surprised himself by saying. He pushed himself up on the refrigerator, trying to look steadier than he felt. That small, sober part of his brain was screaming _no_. But he wasn't lying when he said he would do anything for the Winchesters. Anything. If they wanted their father – hell, Castiel still wanted the man who abandoned him and his brothers – the least he could do was help them get theirs back. Every boy wants his father. John Winchester would be easy compared to Jimmy Novak. "I can get another thousand."

"You can hardly walk, Cas," Sam frowned.

"I can borrow it from Crowley," Castiel licked his lips, his hands were shaking against the refrigerator. He worded it carefully, like he was testing the meaning in his mouth. "An up-front payment plan. He can take it out of me as we go."

Dean slammed his fist against the counter. The silence that followed was heavy and loud. Castiel's ears were ringing from the nothingness.

"I hate being in other people's debt," Dean admitted. "Especially a douchebag like Crowley."

"It would not be your debt, Dean. It would be mine. I would gladly pay it for you, if this is what you want," Castiel's legs were stronger as he walked to the older boy. His hands fell on Dean's shoulders, turning him so they were facing each other. Dean's mind was racing. Castiel could tell by the way his eyes darted back and forth between him and Sam. His shoulders were trembling. No son should have to go through this.

"But… I need to know this is what you want, Dean," Castiel pulled his shoulders, but the stone didn't budge. "I would do anything for you, but I need you to ask me. I… I need to know that you support this. I…" but there was nothing else to say. Castiel's eyes fell to Dean's collarbone. Somewhere safer.

"He's my dad, Cas," the words were slow and careful. Everything felt wrong. They were happy. They were in love. This shouldn't be happening. Dean's hands rested on Castiel's forearms. "It's hard for me to ask… I never ask for help. But I really need you to do me a solid, here, man. And I don't know if I can ever repay you, or even really thank you, but… Please."

Castiel nodded in the way someone did before they jumped off an overpass. It was an acceptance of fate. When he pulled this time, Dean leaned in. Castiel pressed his lips to Dean's, but only let himself rest there for a moment.

"Okay," he stepped away, "Give me an hour. I'll text you when I've got the money. Let me know where to take it."

"An hour?" Sam asked.

Castiel nodded. "He's a dealer after all. He's going to want the best interest rate. He'll probably want to draw up an actual contract."

Dean reached out for him, but Castiel backed away, afraid he was going to lose his nerve. He walked backwards before pausing with his hand on the door handle. "I'll text you."

Castiel watched his boyfriend's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. He nodded, and Castiel left, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Crowley didn't wear suits all the time in Europe. Fun fact. What was the point? He only ever saw his family and his cousins never had tutors teaching them how to mask their Cockney accents. The assortment of jeans and band t-shirts had been washed recently and they had been packed for him. He was just making sure he had his favorite Kings of Leon shirt so he could take a picture with it and the absinthe and send it to Castiel.

Castiel loved Kings of Leon (especially when drinking) and it would create a positive association.

When Crowley heard the knock on window, he paused. Instantly, panic rushed through his body as he checked to see who it was. It must be Lucifer. And if Lucifer was knocking on the window, something bad must be happening.

Crowley pulled back the curtain. Castiel tilted his head in question with the start of a smile forming on the corners of his lips.

The British teen opened the window, and his younger friend jumped inside.

Crowley tried – he really did – to not look at Castiel with lust in his heart. He didn't really give a fuck about Lucifer's God and His Book, but it was something akin to torture, seeing the most complete and perfect human being standing before him – knowing he liked _guys_ – but knowing he would never go for him.

It must have been raining. Castiel's hair was plastered to his face and he was peeling the tan trench coat from his body like a second skin. Underneath, he was wearing the same black button up shirt he had been wearing when Crowley had dumped him on the Winchester's couch.

His pupils were still pinpricks in the blue; he was still high as fuck. Not that Crowley was surprised. When he left him earlier, he half-thought the boy was going to die.

Nice to see he was wrong.

"I need some money," Castiel said, fingers starting at the top button of his shirt.

Crowley froze, "Wot?"

The fine motor skills needed to pop the buttons proved greater than taking off the coat because the younger boy struggled. After twenty agonizing seconds, he managed to feed the button through the hole and started in on the next one. Crowley closed the distance between them and put a hand over Castiel's, stopping his efforts to remove his clothes.

"What?" He repeated, more clearly this time.

Castiel looked up, staring at the older boy like he was looking through him. It was the heroin. The stupid Winchesters and Lucifer may think it was his Xanax or whatever, but they were idiots. Crowley could remember Castiel before heroin was an everyday thing… when he would sell him his mother's Valium and Ambien, and the occasional ecstasy was enough. When Heaven was the very rare occasion he would shoot the morphine.

When Castiel would blow him for some marijuana because he was bored and had nothing better to do.

"I need a thousand dollars," Castiel's hands found Crowley's shoulders; his thumbs ran small circles over his collarbones. "Up front and I'll pay you back whenever you want."

"What…" Crowley cleared his throat, but he saw Castiel smiled and knew it was because his voice was wrecked at the very idea of what the younger boy was hinting at. "What do you need that for? Haven't you got a couple grand from selling?"

Crowley remembered the time Castiel first tried the pole, when he first wanted heroin, and he had practically thrown himself on the dealer. Whatever he wanted the money for, he wanted it bad. The younger boy frowned, an adorable thing with his head tilted to the side, and his hips pushed forward, pressing them together. Crowley's hands went instinctively to his hips to keep them there.

"What are you offering in terms of payment?" Crowley whispered, certain he was about to wake up and wanted to get as far as possible before that happened.

"The only thing of mine you will accept," Castiel replied, rolling his hips forward. His mask slipped a little at the sound Crowley couldn't hide, like Castiel realized what he was doing, what he was offering, what that would mean. He put his face in Crowley's neck and continued, "A thousand dollars at the rate you told me before. A hundred dollars for sex. Whenever you want it. I'll come when you call."

"Oh, Jesus, Castiel," The older boy growled.

Castiel tasted Crowley's neck, barely letting his mouth pause on the skin.

Crowley felt his fingers looping through Castiel's jeans, pulling him close again, bringing their hips together. He wanted it; oh _fucking God_ did he want this. He felt Castiel kiss his neck again, and Crowley knew how long it would take him to undress them and shove the younger boy on his bed. Nothing. No time, no effort, a hundred dollars for ten times.

He should let Castiel pay it back with real money when they had product to sell again. He should be the older boy's friend and help him out.

 _No. Don't you fucking dare_.

Did Castiel even think to ask if he could repay with money? Did he think so little of Crowley that he was sure the older boy would turn him down in his time of need because he wasn't getting what he wanted out of the deal?

He should just give the money to Castiel. He loved him. He really loved him in a way he'd never loved a single other person. Crowley turned his head, pressing his lips against the younger boy's temple. Castiel leaned into the touch. He should just give to his best friend in his time of need.

_Fuck no._

What about Dean?

"Castiel," The name sounded so perfect falling from his lips. "What about your boyfriend?"

"He can never know," The younger boy pulled back, looking up at the dealer. "And that means we have to be careful. Inconspicuous. We need to stop touching when others can see us. No marking me."

Crowley frowned. That seemed like a step backwards, minus the actual sex behind closed doors part.

"So the deal would be I loan you a thousand dollars, and you pay me back by having sex with me for a hundred dollars a pop. I'm not allowed to tell your boyfriend or get grabby when others can see. You come when I call?"

"That's the deal," Castiel nodded, before giving what he probably thought was a grin. To Crowley, it looked shy and afraid. "I'll even put a hundred dollar down payment now."

The older boy took a small notebook out of his back pocket. He flipped through it, somewhere toward the middle. He wrote _Castiel - $1000_ in a fancy script before adding under it _15 Nov – 100_. He held the notebook and pen out and said, "Initial here."

Castiel took the pen, but instead of initialing, he wrote the three letter nickname that the Winchesters used for him. When the notebook and pen were gone again, Castiel was staring through him again. His hands were at his sides.

And just because Crowley was the biggest bastard in the world, who would use his best friend – who obviously needed cash, like now, to even offer such a deal – to indulge his own sexual fantasies, it didn't mean Castiel had to hate this. More than the nameless, faceless girls he traded sex for drugs with, he wanted this to be good for his friend. It would be good for Castiel.

"Let's seal the deal, then, angel."

Castiel looked up at Crowley with a nod. The older boy leaned in, pressing his lips against Castiel's as his fingers started working on the buttons of his shirt.

* * *

 **Castiel:** Got it. Where are you?

 **Dean:** on our way to ace bail bonds 2400 franklin rd meet us there thx cas

Castiel beat the Winchesters there, but only by a few minutes. He used the window for a mirror. His hair didn't look much different, but his lips were swollen and red in a way that screamed he'd been kissing someone. He bit them, hoping the brothers were too focused on their dad to notice.

It was only sprinkling now.

Dean called out to him when he turned the corner, and with his bottom lip between his teeth, Castiel turned to greet the brothers by holding out the ten bills he rolled together. One was paid for, actually his. The other nine seemed to mock him with the promise that they were still owed.

Sam took the money, counting it all together.

"Cas, look, I have another favorite to ask of you," Dean wouldn't really look at him, and Castiel wondered if he knew. Could he smell it on him: the sweat and the sin and the latex? "It seriously kills me to ask this, especially after you dealt with Crowley to get the money. But my dad… he's going to be… if we're getting him out of jail, he could be mean. Detoxing. You know what I'm saying? I just… please stay home tonight. I don't want…"

"He hasn't hit us before," Sam added, trying to save his brother. "But you never know. I'm going to beat them home and hide the alcohol under my bed, but… do you remember when you met him and he didn't want you in Dean's room?"

Castiel got what they were asking, and he felt the heat rising in his face, the tears forming in his eyes. He couldn't say anything. The heroin was still in him, but he couldn't speak. What did he do to their relationship by dealing with Crowley? What was happening to them?

"I swear I'm not ashamed of you, Cas," His voice was hardly above a whisper, but Dean's arms were suddenly gripping his biceps, shaking him like the crushing force was a measure of the truth of his words. "But I can't come out to my dad tonight. Not _tonight_."

Castiel's hands slipped into his pockets, and he felt two pills. That would get him through the night, but not two nights. His words shook, and his voice was tense and foreign. Hurt. "Until when?"

Dean looked unsure, but Sam suddenly smiled. "Dude, my brother loves you. He couldn't stay away from you for more than a day."

The look of embarrassment and anger Dean shot the younger boy was proof enough of the statement, so Castiel nodded. Anything for the Winchesters. He wanted to touch Dean. He wanted to be held and forgiven and loved. He wanted to admit his sins and become clean again. His throat tightening around the words he wanted to say. He couldn't even say goodbye.

He nodded again, like he did when Dean asked him to get the money, like he did when Crowley asked him to seal the deal, like a man jumping from the ledge knowing he had nowhere to go but down. He waved – it was all he could do – and walked away.

He heard the door shut when the brothers entered the shop. They didn't call after him, and Castiel started running.

It certainly wasn't raining hard enough to mask the fact he was crying.

He meant to go home. Castiel had half a thought that he could squeeze another hundred out of Crowley tonight, but the boy had to get up at four to make his flight. No, he could climb through his window and Michael would probably never know he was there. Gabriel would bring him food later; Balthazar might even sneak in to keep him company. In his head, he saw the house he grew up in, the house where his father disappeared from and where his brothers told him his mother died.

When he looked up, he was at the Church.

Lucifer would let him spend the night.

But everything was still wrong. From the lobby, Castiel noticed that the lights in the main hall weren't on nor were the lights in the kitchen. But when he looked to the left, he noticed the door to the Sanctuary was open. He could hear that song playing. That song Lucifer loved to listen to after their father disappeared. But unlike normal, he couldn't hear his brother screaming over the singer.

 

 

 

 

" _Father, into your hands I commend my spirit  
Father into your hands… Why have you forsaken me?_

Castiel followed the song into the Sanctuary. At first he didn't see his brother. The altar had been cleaned; everything above the steps rising to the higher platform where the sermon would be delivered looked out of place among the dusty and broken pews. Lucifer had fixed it in secret.

The altar was stone, but there was something red drawn on the altar.

Castiel walked toward the pews, angling until Lucifer came into view.

His brother was sitting with his back against the altar, eyes closed but face tilting up. He was pale, paler than Castiel had seen him before. He was sitting with his legs crossed, his hands on the floor next to knees, palms up.

The blood was still flowing down his wrist and pooling into his hand.

"Jesus Christ, Lucifer!" Castiel ran at his brother, digging in his pocket for the white bandana.

When Castiel got close enough to see, he noticed that his brother had slit both of his forearms vertically, halfway between his wrist and the elbow. There was a disposable razor on the ground next to his left hand. The plastic was broken and the actual razor part was still cupped around his pointer finger in his right hand. The blood was pooling around both hands. He'd lost a lot of blood.

Castiel took the razor blade from Lucifer before lifting his wrist and tying the bandana over the wound tightly to stop the bleeding.

His hands were at the bottom of his shirt, ripping it to create another bandage, when he heard, "Castiel?"

His hands kept working, but his eyes looked up to see the pale blue ones dulled behind lidded eyes. Castiel bit his lip to keep from screaming at him. The last thing his suicidal brother needed to hear was how fucking stupid he was.

"Kill me," Castiel started tying his shirt around his brother's other arm, wincing when the blood soaked the polyester material instantly. He tied it tighter, putting pressure on the wound. "Castiel, I can't do it myself."

"You need to stop trying at all," Castiel grabbed his brother under his arms and hauled him into a standing position. Lucifer wobbled. The younger boy wrapped his arms around him at the same moment Lucifer crumbled. Castiel wasn't sure if it was the blood loss or an effort to control his death, but Castiel suddenly had a hundred and seventy pounds of mostly dead weight resting over his shoulder.

Castiel tried to take a step toward the door when his weakened, drug addled body couldn't support his brother anymore. Worse than being crushed under Lucifer in a pile of the boy's blood, was the groan that escaped his brother's lips. Castiel rolled his brother on to his back and looked at the dressings. He could see blood through both makeshift bandages.

"No ambulance," Lucifer's eyes fluttered shut. "'M fine. Had worse than this. They'll admit me. Can't go back."

"Keep your arms up, Lucifer." Castiel instructed, frowning, lifting his brother's arms. When he let go and the older boy kept them up, he made a run for the kitchen.

 

 

 

 

" _Trust in my self-righteous suicide.  
I cry when angels deserve to die."_

The bonus of running an illegal gambling fight ring is that they always had a good first aid kit on hand. He grabbed the box and ran back into the sanctuary. Lucifer's elbows had dropped to the floor, but his wrists were still elevated. They were drooping fast. The song started playing over – how many times had his brother listened to this song on repeat – and Castiel wanted to stomp it into silence or throw it against the wall. Instead, he slid a bloody finger across the screen and hit pause.

"Are you awake, brother?" Castiel asked as he removed the shirt and applied gauze. He pushed his palm into the wound, putting pressure on it. After a few moments, he noticed the other arm needed more pressure too. He wrapped tape around the gauze as tight as he could manage, before unwrapping the other arm.

"Castiel," Lucifer whispered, eyes opening again. "If I die now, I will go to hell. Kill me, brother. I don't want to go to hell."

"Then why would you even risk it? Even hell is better than life for you?" Castiel snapped. He put pressure on the wound on his other arm with his hand, keeping a close watch on the other wrist to see if he started bleeding through.

"Crowley is leaving," Lucifer shut his eyes again. "And Sam Winchester hates me."

Castiel wasn't aware he squeezed his brother's wound harder until he heard the older boy groaning in pain. He didn't let up. "Crowley? This is because of him?"

"I don't want to be alone anymore," was the only answer he gave.

Castiel knew, he really fucking knew, that he should call an ambulance. After fifteen minutes of pressure, the wounds stopped bleeding and Castiel added more bandages – afraid of ripping up the clots and having to start over – and taped them down.

His brother was halfway between awake and unconscious, but everything seemed stable. Castiel only dared to leave him long enough to get a bottle of water, some pajamas, and a bucket of soapy water and a wash cloth.

When he got back, Lucifer's eyes were open and he was complacent. Castiel helped him sit up and cleaned his bloody face and hands. Then he helped Lucifer take his bloody shirt off and put on a clean one. His pants were more difficult, because the younger boy had to get him out of the puddle he was sitting in first. Eventually, his brother was dressed and lying on a dusty pew, his arms resting on the wood behind him, elevated.

Lucifer watched as Castiel dunked the washcloth in the soapy water and started cleaning up his blood. If he noticed the way his body shook or that he had to keep brushing tears away, Lucifer didn't say anything. Every so often, Castiel would hear him drinking from the water. He couldn't unscrew the top himself; the wound had made his hands weak and almost useless. When Castiel opened it, it became splattered with blood, just like everything else.

It took a while. There was a lot of blood and the water seemed to spread it around more than clean it up. They were silent until Castiel stood and saw the blood on the altar.

"Lucifer…"

"They were going to try and stop me."

His brother really needed help, Castiel _knew_ that. It was more than just the suicide – there was seriously something broken inside Lucifer. Instead of asking, what the hell do you ask to that anyway, Castiel washed the sigil Lucifer had said would banish angels from the altar. The blood there was coagulating, and Castiel had to close his eyes and put the back of his hand over his mouth twice to will the bile to stay down.

When the traces of blood were mostly gone, Castiel dropped the cloth into the bloody water and carried it into the kitchen to dump down the sink.

Castiel was covered in his brother's blood.

He took off what was left of his shirt and put it in the garbage – it was ripped anyway. His jeans had dried blood on them, but he couldn't exactly take those off. He settled for washing the blood off his torso with scalding water.

The younger Novak was leaning against the sink with the water still running, crying into the steam when he noticed Lucifer in the doorway. He tried to dry off his face, but his brother wasn't stupid. He crossed on shaky legs, using his elbows on the island to support himself, before giving reaching a two of his fingers under the water and rubbing them on Castiel's forehead.

"I'm so sorry you found me like that, Castiel," Lucifer offered, rinsing the blood from his fingers before moving on to his brother's cheek, ridding his brother of his blood.

Castiel closed his eyes, swallowing the comment about how it was the _finding_ that he was sorry for. Not the act itself. When the hands didn't return to his face, the younger boy opened his eyes. Lucifer was washing his hands and arms, carefully avoiding the bandage. When he shut the water off, he turned and faced his brother with a frown on his face.

"Grab some hydrogen peroxide from under the counter. I'll get you some pajamas."

Castiel did as he was told, but followed his brother downstairs. He made it down okay, leaning against the wall. When Lucifer made it to his room, he collapsed on the mattress. Castiel helped himself to a pair of shorts, an old t-shirt, and a zip-up hoodie. "Don't fall asleep," Castiel added, before he marched back upstairs.

The younger boy put the stopper in the bottom of the sink, before adding Lucifer's clothing. He took off his pants, shoving them in with his brother's. He dressed quickly, then poured the peroxide over the clothes. He'd let it soak overnight and the blood stains would probably be gone in the morning.

He grabbed Lucifer another bottle of water and headed downstairs.

His brother was awake, and for the first time, Castiel noted the pain his brother must be in. He was on his back, eyes covered by the crook of his arm. His other wrist was resting on his stomach in the same pained way it was when Michael had broken it. There was a grimace on his face. Castiel sat down next to him on the bed and checked his phone. The whole ordeal had only taken an hour. It was only eight o'clock. It felt like three in the morning.

In the hour, he'd gotten four text messages from Dean ("got the bond," "were home," a longer one apologizing for earlier and thanking him, and "where r u? u ok?") and two from Sam ("Waiting for our dad to get out of jail. Boring. Wish you were here," and "Where are you, Cas? Dean's worried.").

He was about to text Dean and let him know he was staying with his brother, when Lucifer rolled away from Castiel, pulled the teddy bear Sam had packed in the duffle bag months ago between his arms, wrists huddled protectively to his chest, knees curling up into fetal position, and started sobbing. Castiel shut his phone down – it wouldn't stay charged overnight if he didn't – and sat it on the floor next to the mattress before sliding down to lay next to his brother. There was a foot between them, but Castiel didn't know what would comfort his brother.

The younger boy reached out his hand, tentatively touching Lucifer's back.

When the sobbing didn't stop, but Lucifer didn't attack either, Castiel started rubbing small circles, the way his mother would some nights when he was younger, the way Gabriel did the night he found Castiel after he had taken the Vicodin.

"I don't know what to say to you," Castiel admitted, palm pressing against his brother's shoulder blade. "I know there's nothing I can say to make it better. I've been there before. But either way, I love you, Lucifer. And at least take comfort knowing that tonight you won't be alone."

The boy had stopped shaking, and he surprised Castiel by rolling over, facing him. His wrists returned to press tightly against his chest, his hands clasped together under his chin. His pale eyes were red from the tears, but mostly, he just looked tired.

"Do you want me to talk about something stupid and boring to help you take your mind off it?" Castiel asked.

Lucifer shook his head, but inched closer. Castiel got the idea and slid an arm under his brother's neck and pulled him to his chest. His arm tightened around his shoulder, the other hand started rubbing through his hair, pushing the balls of his fingers against the scalp.

Lucifer didn't cry again – he didn't try to move out of the embrace – and half an hour later when the older boy's breathing evened and his body twitched as the tension drained into sleep, Castiel held him. He didn't intend to move from this spot all night.

It was then, in the silence of the night, that Castiel even thought of Lucifer. His brother. His brother had thousands of dollars. Tens of thousands – between the drugs, the prostitution, and the underground fights – and Castiel ran to Crowley, offered his body. His brother would have _given_ him the money.

Tears swelled in his eyes and he pulled Lucifer closer. He tried not to wake his brother up as something broke inside of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:
> 
> \- "Goodbye Forever" by Alkaline Trio is the song that Sam listens to when Dean and Cas run upstairs. Alkaline Trio will eventually have more songs because it is, after all, Luci's favorite band ;)
> 
> \- "I Just Had Sex" by the Lonely Island is the song Castiel and Lucifer sing when Crowley gets back from having sex in the woods.
> 
> \- "How to Love" by Lil Wayne is the song Uriel and Raphael are singing in their room when Michael comes in. It seems like a weird choice, but I guess I wanted to show something about the older boys and how different they are than the younger ones. Like maybe they can remember a time before everything got cold and distant or something.
> 
> \- "Chop Suey" by System of a Down is the song playing during Lucifer's suicide attempt.
> 
> Songs that were referenced in the chapter but didn't have lyrics attached with them (most of them were at the football game): "Four Minutes" by Madonna, "We Run This" by Missy Elliot, "Beer" by Reel Big Fish, "She Has A Girlfriend Now" by Reel Big Fish, "Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO and Castiel references the song "Lesson Number One" from Mulan when teaching yoga.


	8. Turn Away (I Need You More)

**Chapter 8: "Turn Away (I Need You More)"**

Castiel hadn't slept for shit. When he felt his brother pushing his shoulder, trying to wake him up, he drew his knees closer to his chest and tucked his head down. His hand reached up to pull the hoodie over his eyes – the sun was shining through the window.

"Let Gabriel shower before me," Castiel whined. "I'm too sick to go to school today."

The hand shaking him stopped, but remained pressed against his shoulder. "I dream of home sometimes, too."

Castiel rolled over at the voice, hood falling off his head and bunching around his shoulders in the process. Lucifer was lying on the bed next to him, propped up on an elbow. His hand was under the pillow, but Castiel noticed he wasn't putting pressure on it – his entire weight rested on his elbow. They were in his room in the Church. The night came flooding back to Castiel and he sat up, remembering why he didn't sleep well.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

Lucifer sat up, too, but more slowly, forcing his body up with his abs instead of pushing with his hands. His chin was practically at his chest he was so unwilling to meet Castiel's eye. His voice was soft, embarrassed, the way a young kid had to admit to his parents he had wet the bed again.

"I bled through my bandages."

Castiel looked down. His brother's hands were on his knees, palms up. There was a lot of gauze, but the younger boy could see a straight line across each bandage from where the wound was still seeping a little bit. It wasn't bad. A quick look at his shirt and the sheets proved that he hadn't bled through onto anything else.

"I'll help you change them," Castiel put his hands over his brother's. The older boy tried to squeeze, but it was weak. Castiel helped Lucifer stand, grabbed their cell phones from the floor, and helped him up the stairs. The younger brother got the supplies ready, popped a Zanax, and started working.

As Castiel removed layer after layer of the gauze, the image looked more and more gruesome. There was more and more blood, looking somewhat fresher. When he got to the final few layer, Castiel was afraid to peel it back too roughly and risk opening the wound again. Slowly, he wet the bandage so it wouldn't rip up any forming scabs, and unwound.

The skin around the wound wasn't red; it was pale. The wound didn't look so open and deep that the muscles were hanging out or exposed, but it were significantly deeper than Castiel had never seen a wound before. The skin at the edges of the cut was white and dead. He swallowed, and looked up at his brother, "Do you think we should take you to the hospital? You could need stitches."

"I don't," he replied, daring a glance up. "Please, Castiel, don't make me go back to the hospital. The last time I went, dad left and… I can't do it again."

"Father didn't leave because you were admitted," Castiel frowned as he started to clean the wound. He sounded sure of himself, but he was starting to wonder. Why did their father leave? From time to time, Lucifer would wince or gasp or hiss, but he never complained with words. Castiel appreciated that. Even knowing that the cleaning would help him heal faster, he didn't want his brother in pain.

Castiel smeared some pain-relief Neosporin on a strip of gauze before placing it on the wound. Lucifer held it in place while Castiel wrapped three more layers of bandage around the gauze, then taped it down.

The younger brother started on Lucifer's other wrist.

When the bandaging was done, Lucifer studied Castiel's work. He flexed his fingers, balling them into fists and stretching them out again, making sure the tendons seemed to be working properly. "It seems okay, but my fingers are cold. It's like both my hands were asleep and there are pin-picks of pain shooting all over them as they're trying to wake up. It's from the muscle though – I didn't cut the tendons."

"You still have a whole bottle of Oxy left from when your wrist was broken," Castiel opened the drawer and started searching. "Whatever Crowley's saving them for doesn't matter. You can have one."

"No," Lucifer nudged his brother with his elbow to get him to stop looking. "I need the pain. Maybe if it hurts enough this time, I'll remember how bad I felt next time I want to try again."

"Fat chance," Castiel shut the drawer and leaned against the island. "That's like me and Burger King. Every time I eat it, I'm bedridden for an hour feeling like I'm going to puke. Doesn't matter though. It's so delicious that somehow I forget how sick it makes me."

Lucifer looked at his brother for a moment, as if he were trying to determine whether or not he was serious. Castiel was startled by the deep laugh that erupted from his brother's stomach. The sound of his brother so genuinely happy shattered something in Castiel. It was the first moment he really felt his Lucifer could recover from this and be okay.

Castiel felt himself laughing too. After a few minutes, while he was trying to catch his breath, he turned his phone on, and slid Lucifer his. After waiting for the device to start up, he noticed the number of notifications.

_**15 New Text Messages from Dean.** _

_**9 Missed Calls from Dean.** _

_**8 New Text Messages from Sam.** _

_**5 Missed Calls from Sam.** _

_**4 New Text Message from Crowley.** _

_**4 New Text Messages from Gabriel.** _

_**2 Missed Calls from Crowley.** _

_**1 Missed Call from Balthazar.** _

Uh oh.

* * *

Dean was still sitting at that spot on the couch were Sam had left him six hours ago. His brother was leaning against the armrest; his eyes must have finally closed, and he succumbed to sleep. His phone was still clenched in his hand.

John hadn't been difficult to get home. He didn't say anything all night. No explanations. Nothing. Just a silent walk home, a silent dinner, a silent hour of TV, and then he was off to bed. It was around the end of dinner time when Dean cornered Sam in the kitchen and asked if he had heard from Castiel. He'd sent his boyfriend a few messages but wasn't getting a reply.

Dean fidgeted through the Family Guy episodes they were streaming. Every so often he would send a text, or excuse himself to the bathroom to try calling. Each time he didn't get a response, he grew more worried. It manifested itself as agitation.

"Gabriel and Balthazar said he wasn't with them," Sam tried to reason. "Crowley said he wasn't with him, either. Dude only has four friends besides us and three of them are family. He's with Lucifer, Dean. That's probably why he isn't answering you either."

Not that Sam wasn't sending the older Novak a whole slew of worried (read: angry and vicious) messages himself. Not that Sam was worried about either of them. No, they were big boys. Sam certainly wasn't freaking out.

The pencil he had been trying to do his homework with snapped in half. He swore before he could catch himself, but Dean didn't say anything.

Okay, Sam was worried.

He had never texted Lucifer before, so he didn't exactly know what the typical response time was with him. However, he texted Castiel every freaking day and it didn't matter whether he was in class, or out selling, or with Lucifer and Crowley, Castiel _always_ texted right back.

"His phone probably died," Sam offered. "You wouldn't let him stay here and you know Smartphones never hold a charge."

"Fuck," Dean had replied. Sending out another message.

Sam went to bed after that. Or at least, he rolled around in bed for an hour before he finally fell asleep. He doubted Dean had more than four hours under his belt. Sam took out his phone to try Castiel again.

Dean suddenly jerked awake in surprise, the phone falling from his hand. Even after it hit the floor, it was vibrating.

The older boy picked it up, opened it, and hit okay.

"Fuck," Dean said.

Sam was making a grab for the phone, but his brother pushed him away, reading the message. "He said, 'I'm with Lucifer at the Church. I turned my phone off last night. I'm sorry to have worried you, but I'm okay. Talk to you later.' What do you think he means by that?"

"He isn't exactly the master of passive aggressive text messages, Dean. He probably means what he said."

 **Dean:** come over my dads asleep and ive been worried sick

 **Castiel:** I can't right now. Maybe later. I'll text you.

Dean read the message allowed to Sam and frowned, "What does _that_ mean?"

Sam shrugged. "They're probably just playing a game or something. Hell, he may be a little pissed. You pretty much kicked him out of the house with a halfass excuse about coming out."

"You _supported_ that last night," Dean hissed. "Should I go over there or something?"

"No, you know he's okay now. And you have to be at work in an hour," Sam sighed, feeling his phone buzz in his hand. "Besides, I think you've acted like a crazy stalker enough for the day. You're lucky he's socially inept or he might have been freaked out." He opened his phone and read the message.

"Bitch," Dean frowned, but then sighed. Sam was right. Castiel was okay, and that's all that mattered. Besides, Dean could have the _'You need to let me know where you are at night because I care about your stupid face and where you are and if you're alive'_ speech later tonight. He started climbing the stairs to shower before work.

"Jerk," Sam added a little late, still frowning at his phone.

 **Lucifer:** I deserve those things you said. But I am terribly sorry, Sam. I hope that someday you'll be able to forgive me.

Okay, Sam thought. It wasn't _that_ big of a deal. Especially now that Sam knew they weren't dead in a ditch somewhere.

 **Sam:** I'm sorry I said that stuff. I didn't mean it. Dean was freaking out because he couldn't find Cas. I was kind of worried too. Are you both okay?

 **Lucifer:** We're still alive. That counts for something, right?

Sam frowned a little bit, not completely sure what to make out of that, and he hated texting. Without a person's face or voice to give him clues, he wasn't sure what emotion to put behind it. They probably just got drunk and were having a rough morning.

 **Sam:** Thank God for that.

* * *

The transformation in Lucifer had been so instant after the laughter it almost scared Castiel. When Castiel looked up from texting Dean, his brother was staring so intently at his phone that he was surprised it didn't implode or something. Lucifer's cheeks were tinged pink – just barely – but his ears were scarlet.

"Who are you texting?" Castiel asked.

"Nobody," Lucifer put his phone away. His eyes were dancing, and the stupid grin on his face wouldn't go away. Castiel smiled at his brother. "Let's play a game."

They had tried Guitar Hero at first, but the fingers are controlled by the muscles and tendons in the arm, and it hurt Lucifer too much to play. Instead, he grabbed Crowley's fedora and put it on Castiel, turning on L.A. Noire.

For a few hours, Castiel played while Lucifer acted as his partner on the force, instructing him through the game.

Then Ruby showed up.

Lucifer stole Castiel's hoodie to hide the bandages from the girl. Cole got shot in the head and fell down the stairs, and Castiel checked his phone. Dean should be out of work now.

"I should go see Dean," Castiel looked at his brother. His wrists were in his lap, his chin against his chest as Ruby rubbed his shoulders from behind. At the words, Lucifer looked over at Castiel. "If that's okay with you?"

"Aren't you a big boy now? You don't need your brother's permission. Scram, so we can make out," Ruby pushed her thumbs along Lucifer's spine.

The older boy groaned, but smiled at Castiel, "We will certainly not be making out, but you should have fun making out with Dean. See you in a couple of hours?" The question was weighted – begging – _please Castiel don't leave me alone tonight._

"I'll be back. Text me when the bitch leaves and I'll be here," Castiel stood, removing Crowley's hat and placing it on Lucifer's head. His brother was grinning at him. Ruby wasn't quite so enthused. As Castiel walked out of the church, he heard Ruby swearing at him.

He barely made it out the door when his phone rang.

"Hello Crowley."

" _Don't you fokken 'ello, Crowley' me, you twit. I just got off the plane in JFK and I check my phone fore we fly off to bloody London and I get this message from your brother that says, 'Tried to kill myself. Cas stopped me so no worries. Have fun in England.' So you want to fokken start explaining?"_

"That sort of sums it up," Castiel switched the phone to the other ear.

He heard Crowley sigh, then say something to someone else, probably a parent asking him who he was talking to. _"Well is he okay?"_

"He's alive. I left him with Ruby for an hour or so. I'm walking over to see the Winchesters now."

Crowley laughed. He actually laughed aloud, almost sounding gleeful, _"Yeah. The younger one called me last night before I left and asked if you were here. I said, 'sorry, we already fucked once today. Really wore me out, that freak.'"_ Castiel heard a woman chastising his language, and Crowley apologized.

" _But yeah, Cassie, if he's not into the whole prostitution thing and you break up with him, and you come to_ me, _I'll negate your debt."_

"How noble of you. To try and reform the whore."

" _You were mine first anyway, weren't ya?"_ The younger boy heard the women again, asking who he was talking to – ( _"Age, that your girlfriend, love?" "No, mum. Stop it."_ ) – _"We'll be boarding soon. Watch your brother for me, alright? Talk to you later."_

Castiel noticed he was outside the Winchesters' house once he pocketed his phone. He frowned. Did he say he would text Dean? Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to just invite himself over with John back.

He knocked anyway, and wouldn't it be his luck that John opened the door?

Had Castiel really only seen John in person once before? He was taller than Dean, or at least, he looked taller. He looked frightening – like someone who terrorized everyone he ever met – or at least, the people who were secretly dating his son. Castiel swallowed, searching for words. John frowned, until a few seconds later, he spoke.

"You're that Novak boy who was helping Dean with his homework. I forgot your first name, son. I'm sorry," John extended his hand with stiff formality. Under his arm, Castiel could see Sam sitting on the couch, looking half pleased and half stunned.

"Castiel," He shook the man's hand, opting to squeeze it tighter than he would with anyone else. John seemed like the man who appreciated a firm handshake. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Winchester."

"John," he corrected, letting go of his hand and stepping aside to let the boy in. Castiel walked past, and quickly sat down next to Sam. "My boy here tells me that you helped them with the money. You let your parents know that I intend to pay them back."

"My parents are…"

"No, dad, _Cas_ helped you out. He doesn't live at home anymore. He works and it was _his_ money," Sam added.

"Oh," John looked smaller, then, more embarrassed that his sons' seventeen year old friend had to help bail him out of jail. "I'll pay you back, Castiel." He didn't say thank you, but it was implied and Castiel nodded it away. Anything for the Winchesters.

"If you don't mind me asking… if you don't live at home, where do you stay? Kind of young to have an apartment, right?"

Castiel looked at Sam for help, but luckily Dean burst in the front door at just that moment. He entered the way he always did, trying really hard not to get grease on anything, even though he had washed his hands at Bobby's and would likely wash them again upstairs. Castiel loved it. He loved the way Dean's hands were black at the end of the day and how the smell of exhaust never really left him. He stood when Dean walked in, but he somehow managed to stop himself from running to his boyfriend.

Dean saw the boy stand and breathed his name.

If John thought anything was weird about the eye-sex, he didn't say anything.

"Could I speak with you, Dean?" Castiel's hands clasped together in front of his body. His shoulders sank a little in such a painful display of submission and shyness, he annoyed himself. He can't help it though. He felt himself breaking and he needed support. "Privately?"

Dean glanced for half a moment at John, like he was going to ask. Then he straightened, defiant and maybe even a little proud, and he led his boyfriend up to his room. Surprisingly, neither boy attacked the other when the door shut behind them.

There was too much to say.

"Dean…"

"Cas, listen," Dean's voice was low, and that somehow made it worse. He looked like he was bubbling – the worry and fury from the night before returning. "I couldn't fucking sleep last night not knowing if you were dead. When I got back last night, you were pretty out of it, remember? I thought you were in a ditch somewhere with your blood sugar all out of wack or something. I know, okay? I _know_ that it's my fault. I should have let you come home. But you can't just scare me like that, man. Sam called fucking _Crowley_ looking for you. I thought you were fucking _dead._ "

Castiel winced, and Dean almost lost his nerve. The tears were swelling in his boyfriend's eyes, and the fury melted again.

"You know how I feel about you. If anything ever happened to you…"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel sounded like he hadn't slept much either. He cleared his throat and tried again. "When I left you at the bail place, I… I went to Lucifer's Church… and…"

When Castiel started crying, Dean held his arms up in surrender. It was his bad. His fault. He didn't mean to make the younger boy cry. He was so _stupid_ for even asking him to stay away. After all he did for them. So fucking stupid.

Dean reached out for Castiel, pulling him into a hug. The moment contact was made, the younger boy collapsed. He had cried last night. He had cried this morning. But he was holding back in front of Lucifer. With Dean's arms around him, Castiel's nose pressed against the bigger boy's neck, he couldn't hold back any longer. He couldn't pretend to be strong anymore.

Dean guided him to the bed and pulled him into his lap. It felt like forever that Castiel was sitting there, hiding himself in the older boy's shoulder. Dean didn't ask. He let him cry until the younger boy's sobs died in his throat and he sat back, trying to wipe his tears on the shirt Lucifer let him borrow. It almost set him off again, but he managed to hold it in.

"I'm sorry I kicked you out, Cas," Dean tried, running his fingers through Castiel's hair. "It was really stupid of me. Please come back home. I don't care what my dad thinks. We can go tell him right now, if you want."

Castiel shook his head, "I can't."

Dean froze for a moment, until his hand dropped from Castiel's hair. In one swift movement, he wasn't touching Castiel anywhere. Their knees were separated by an inch, and Castiel frowned at the loss.

The older boy was emotionless except for a frown, "Do you want to break up, then?"

A frown crossed over Castiel's face, like he had never given it thought before. "No, thank you. I would like to continue with our relationship. Unless… are you that upset with me?"

Dean frowned back, "Then why won't you come home? Are you pissed at me? We can talk this out, right?"

"I can't leave Lucifer," Castiel looked at his palms resting in his lap. "When I left last night, I found him in the Sanctuary. He had tried to kill himself. He had already lost a lot of blood, and I fear he may try it again if someone isn't watching him."

They were quiet again for a few moments. What do you say to something like that? Dean reached out and took Castiel's hand.

"Please don't tell Sam."

Dean frowned, "Why does Sam matter in this?"

"He just… I don't think Lucifer wants anyone to know. Please, just, don't tell anyone," Castiel said – it was less than a half truth. It was a quarter-truth, but for some reason, he knew. Lucifer needed to own up to this himself.

Dean's thumb rubbed over the back of his boyfriend's hand. The grease left stains, but not very dark. He traced a heart before looking up, "I got grease all over you. It's in your hair and on your brother's shirt. I'm sorry."

Castiel smiled.

Dean melted, reaching his hand out and making a mark on the younger boy's cheek and chin as he drew him in, kissing him softly on the lips.

* * *

There were a lot of things wrong with John Winchester, but one of those things wasn't his hearing. Upstairs, a door shut and water started in the bathroom. A few minutes later, Dean was walking down the stairs. He had changed out of his work clothes and had scrubbed his hands. He was sort of pensive and sort of giddy – a look his mother used to get sometimes when she was pregnant.

John doubted his son was pregnant, but _damn_ did his boys remind him of Mary.

Dean looked at him and gave him a small smile, before joining Sam in the living room. The TV was low, and he could hear them talking from the kitchen table.

"Cas is going to stay with Lucifer for the week," Dean said, his voice low like he didn't want John to hear.

"Because of dad?" Sam asked. "Cas has been living here for more than a month, Dean. Don't you think it's rude to kick him out because you're afraid of what your father thinks?"

"I'm _not_ afraid," Dean insisted. "It's Lucifer… With Crowley gone, he's going to be alone all week. Cas just wants to keep him company."

Sam made a sound like he didn't believe him, but didn't say anything else.

"Hey, I asked Cas to ask Lucifer to come over for Thanksgiving with us, alright? I mean, Cas paid for the shit, and his brother shouldn't have to be alone. That okay with you?"

"Sure," Sam said, but John could _hear_ the smile on his boy's face. "We bought more than enough food. That's nice of you to ask him, Dean. I didn't know you could get a replacement for your faulty empathy. Where was it on sale?"

John heard a shuffling and a pained laugh that made him suspect Sam had just gotten kicked, "Bitch."

"Jerk."

Castiel walked down the stairs a few minutes later with his hair still dripping on his t-shirt. It was a different set of clothes than when he got here – something neither of his boys would be caught dead wearing – and if John needed more proof that the boy lived here, that was it.

The three boys started talking, joking, and laughing like it was the most natural thing in the world for them to do. Like if he just hid here, around the corner where they couldn't see him, the boys would forget he was even around.

John frowned into his cup of coffee. His boys were doing good. They always did better when he wasn't around. It was only a matter of time before he fell off the wagon again. He would always let them down. Maybe, he thought, he should just leave now and spare everyone the pain of another attempt at sobriety.

* * *

Lucifer was _annoyingly_ excited to go to Thanksgiving with the Winchesters. So much so, he kept Castiel awake pretty much all Wednesday night fidgeting. And that was saying something considering Lucifer bought a sleeping bag so they didn't have to curl up next to each other on the full mattress anymore.

(Though, to be fair, they usually ended up pretty damn close every night anyway. Castiel was pretty sure that cuddling with your brother didn't mean you were cheating on your boyfriend, but he was also pretty sure that cuddling with your brother at seventeen wasn't socially acceptable either.)

It was a big day for Lucifer, too. Castiel hadn't left him alone for more than ten minutes at a time since _that_ night, but Castiel was going over early to help Sam cook the food. This would leave his brother alone for a few hours before dinner at two.

(He wanted to come, but Castiel joked that Sam would think he was desperate. Lucifer took the joke very _very_ seriously, and vowed to stay away until dinner).

Luckily the girls came over from time to time, or Castiel would have killed his brother himself from attempting to entertain him twenty-four-seven. Not to mention, he needed a fix of Dean and absence really did make the heart grow fonder. And Dean was animal when he didn't have the option of taking Castiel whenever he wanted him. He wanted John to accidently overhear them less than he wanted Sam to hear them, because at least Sam _knew_ what was happening behind closed doors, but made a game out of trying to get Castiel to scream.

And two could play at that game. Castiel was trying to think of a way to buy him and Dean some time tomorrow. Maybe Lucifer could set fire to the kitchen…

"What should I wear tomorrow?" Lucifer asked for at least the hundredth time. Castiel turned in the sleeping bag to face his brother. The older boy was lifting his arms toward the ceiling, scratching at the scabs on his wrists. Usually, Castiel made him wear the bandages even though he wasn't bleeding because he kept scratching them, but they wouldn't heal if he didn't let air get to it.

"Stop scratching," Castiel frowned. "You're wearing something over them tomorrow. You can't get nervous and rip the scab off and bleed to death on the Winchesters' floor. That would dampen your chances with Sam."

Even in the dark, Castiel could see the shine in Lucifer's eyes. It was like two more stars suddenly burst to life. "Do you really think I have a chance?"

Castiel groaned and rolled over again. "Good _night_ , Lucifer."

* * *

When Castiel woke up, he was surprised to see that he was still in the sleeping bag on the other side of the room as Lucifer. (He had a nasty habit of waking up on the mattress). But he was unsurprised to see Lucifer had dragged his pillows and blankets (and teddy bear) off his bed to curl up next to him, effectively pinning him between a sleeping mass of angst and the wall.

And wiggling out of sleeping bag was impossible without waking his brother. When he tried, Lucifer's eyes shot open. He sat up and practically beamed, "Happy Thanksgiving, Castiel!"

"It's not Christmas, Lucifer," Castiel rubbed his eyes. "You aren't getting any presents."

"This will be the first home cooked meal I've had since September 21st. How is that not a present?" Lucifer made his bed before pulling Castiel up by the arm. (The muscles in his forearms had healed enough for manhandling, apparently).

"What are you going to do while I'm gone?" Castiel asked.

"I was thinking I was gonna try and take all the Oxycodones at once and see how fast I'll fall asleep forever," Lucifer joked. "Then I realized you wouldn't be here to stop the stopwatch, so we'd never know anyway. So I'll probably clean instead."

"You're insane. Good day, sir," Castiel said, as he marched to the bathroom down the hall to take a shower.

"Castiel, I…"

"I said _good day._ "

Leaving Lucifer alone turned out to be harder than Castiel thought. He'd been his brother's shadow for almost a week. By the time he knocked on the Winchesters' door, he was already texting his brother to make sure he was okay.

Dean laughed when he answered the door. "Now you get why I worry about Sam all the time."

Castiel frowned, "Sam isn't an idiot like my brother is."

The younger Winchester rounded the corner from the kitchen with a smile on his face, "You don't think I'm an idiot? Gee, thanks, Cas!"

"Sammy?" John sounded like he was panicking in the kitchen. When he rounded the corner, he was holding a bloody napkin to his hand. He smiled at Castiel when he saw him. "Hey, Cas. We started _Nightmare Next Door_ last night after you left. Have you seen it?"

"Hi, Mr. Winchester –"

"Dad, are you bleeding?" Sam rushed back to John's side, pushing him back into the kitchen. Dean took the moment to slip his arm around Castiel and give him a brief kiss. Castiel smiled up at Dean, before following the other two Winchesters into the kitchen.

"… It was an accident, Sammy. I was cutting the potatoes and the knife slipped," the youngest Winchester was holding his father's hand under the water. "Anyway, Cas, it's about murders that happened in small towns across America. And the dude gives like three hundred metaphors an episode."

"Similes, dad," Sam corrected, grabbing a Band-Aid.

"Similes, then," John said, wincing as Sam put the bandage on too tight around his finger. "But I thought you may like it 'cause of the… you know… _diction_."

Castiel started peeling the potatoes for John, "We'll have to watch it tonight."

"No," Sam turned around, an unnecessary level of angry. "The _guest_ gets to pick the show."

"Well then if Cas wants to watch it…" Dean started.

Sam scoffed, "Cas is not a guest. I meant Lucifer."

Castiel rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Bobby showed up around noon, about the time the turkey started smelling good. Castiel had the potatoes in a pot on the stove, but they weren't on yet. The cranberry sauce was cut up and wrapped in tinfoil in the refrigerator. They had two pies done – one apple and one chocolate instant pudding abomination Castiel said was his favorite – and Bobby brought the pumpkin.

 **Castiel:** When are you coming over?

 **Lucifer:** WHAT SHOULD I WEAR I AM FREAKING OUT CAS HELP ME!1! ARE THEY ALL DRESSED UP OR IS IT MORE CASUAL!?

Castiel put his phone away.

An hour later, John and Bobby were fighting about the current episode of _MythBusters_ they were watching on Netflix, and Castiel was trying very _very_ hard not to lean into Dean at all. The boy was radiating heat and Castiel was about a minute away from asking Sam to switch seats because he couldn't withstand the temptation anymore.

The doorbell rang, and the youngest Winchester _sprinted_ to the door.

"Well, hiya, Sammy," Lucifer was cheery behind the door. Castiel stood up to great his brother, and noticed Sam was accepting two bags. One was a box with a bunch of wine glasses; the other had Sparkling Grape Juice. Sam looked confused and Lucifer winked, "You know, to class it up like the pilgrims did." He probably meant to bring real wine, but thought better of it at the last second. John was a recovering alcoholic, after all.

Sam went to put the new additions in the kitchen. Lucifer let himself in and Castiel shut the door behind him. The smaller Novak was instantly aware of the lack of white – it was his brother's favorite color after all – but the darker green shirt with a green button up over it was nice. And it hid the bandages. It didn't go at all with Crowley's fedora. Lucifer had been wearing it a lot all week – Castiel just figured he missed his friend. Bringing the fedora was like bringing Crowley to dinner. Lucifer took it off instantly, setting it on Castiel's head with a smile.

Well, it _did_ look better on him, anyway.

It was then that Castiel noticed Lucifer was holding the violin case. "What's that for?"

"Just in case, you know?" Lucifer patted his shoulder. "Mom always had us play music after dinner. Maybe the Winchesters have a tradition." Castiel grabbed the case and set it over by his keyboard.

"Yeah, we do," Dean said, slinging an arm over Lucifer's shoulder (perhaps because he was so dying to touch a Novak, at this point it didn't matter _which_ Novak). "The last one who shows up does the dishes."

Lucifer groaned, but smiled at Dean. "By the way, this is my dad, John, and this is his friend Bobby. Bobby runs the shop that I work at." The older men played nice and smiled. "Guys, this is Cas' brother, Lucifer."

Lucifer shook Bobby's hand first, then John's, adding, "Pleased to meet you."

"Won't you guess his name?" Bobby asked.

"What's troubling you is the nature of my game," Lucifer winked. John grinned, clasping the boy's hand a little bit tighter in approval.

There were pretty much little hearts floating off Sam at that point.

Even though they said dinner was at two, everyone was here and the turkey _looked_ done (at least to the two teenagers in charge of the meal. Bobby had cleared Sam and Castiel out of the kitchen with a, "Fine, I'll do it myself, you idjits," before declaring that the turkey was done as soon as the potatoes were).

Sam was stretching for their mother's favorite plates at the top of the cupboard and couldn't reach them. Lucifer stood on his tiptoes and got them for the smaller boy, then helped him set the table. Dean set up the wine glasses Lucifer brought, and poured everyone a cup of Sparkling Grape Juice whether they wanted it or not. Castiel mashed the potatoes. John started the corn.

All the while, everyone was talking and laughing over each other.

For six men, the dinner turned out pretty edible.

John sat at the head of the table, with Bobby at his left. Sam was next to Bobby and Lucifer scored the other head seat. Castiel was in between his brother and Dean. John cut the turkey.

Dean sort of wondered if Lucifer was going to ask them to pray. While Bobby was bitching at John for carving wrong, Dean noticed Lucifer slide his hand into Castiel's under the table. The older Novak looked at Sam, who held out his hand instantly. Their hands touched, clasped together then lowered below the table.

If praying meant he got to hold Castiel's hand, then Dean was suddenly the praying type. The look of delighted shock on his boyfriend's face at his assertion into their prayer was worth it. When the other three bowed their heads in silence, Dean just looked at his plate, awkwardly thinking _'Thanks dude, er, I mean God. For everything. Especially the people here. Especially Castiel...'_

Dean was going to continue the rambling prayer, but he felt Castiel's thumb rubbing circles over the back of his hand. He opened his eyes to look. Castiel winked, thumb pushing a little harder into the back of his hand. It didn't mean anything to Dean except everything.

He loved when Castiel said or did blasphemous things. It made him feel like he was worth falling for or something.

Lucifer let go of Castiel's hand, so Castiel dropped Dean's. The promise of it stayed through the rest of the meal.

They talked almost nonstop. Usually it was to the people in their direct vicinity, but sometimes John would ask Lucifer something and it would turn into a shouting match. A few times, it didn't. It would grow silent and intense and Lucifer always answered – even when the answers weren't easy.

John had asked, "You boys come from a bigger family than this. Is it usually louder?"

Lucifer almost always answered the diplomatic questions while Castiel poked holes in the cranberry sauce he didn't like anyway. "No," Lucifer admitted. "Not recently, anyway. You don't need to speak aloud to talk to who matters to them."

"But when we were younger," Castiel was still stabbing the abomination on his plate, "I remember Gabriel stood on his chair and fell on the table. He ruined half the meal. Zachariah was livid, but our mom just laughed. And Jimmy… our dad… he did whatever mom did back then... before..."

Lucifer was smiling. Sam was too.

Castiel looked up at Dean. The older boy squeezed Castiel's leg under the table.

A little while into the dinner, Castiel got a text and checked it. He snorted to himself, then showed his phone to his brother. "Crowley's in Paris with his cousins." For 9 pm (his time) Crowley looked completely wasted, smiling like a complete idiot with a row of shots lined up in front of him.

Lucifer laughed, but Dean just frowned and said, "No phones at the table, Cas."

When they were done eating, Lucifer did wash the dishes. Castiel tried to help him, but Sam shot him such a ferocious deathglare, he decided to just sit in the living room with Dean, John, and Bobby and leave Sam and Lucifer to _whatever_ in the kitchen.

Apparently _stuffed_ was the level in which cuddling became okay, because after Castiel sat on the loveseat, Dean plopped himself down on it too, resting his head against the arm rest, and his legs across Castiel's lap.

The younger boy leaned his head against the back of the seat, resting his hands over his boyfriend's legs, completely missing the look John sent Bobby.

Castiel wasn't aware he had fallen asleep until Lucifer was shaking him awake.

John and Bobby were gone from the room, but the sound of their voices was reaching him from the kitchen. Dean's arms were folded across his chest, head tilted to his side, asleep. Castiel looked up at his brother.

"Sam asked if we'd play him something."

"Did he ask or did you beg him to let you?" Castiel stretched, causing Dean's legs to move. His eyes fluttered open for a second, but quickly closed again.

Lucifer just smiled and held his hand down to his brother.

Castiel tried to wiggle his way out from under a sleeping Dean, but Sam hurried the process along when he sat on his brother's stomach, causing the sleeping boy to flail awake, knocking his brother to the floor. Dean sat up as he rubbed his face, frowning at the laughter. Castiel stood and walked to his keyboard.

By the time Lucifer had rosined his bow, Sam was sitting next to Dean and the older Winchester looked more awake.

"What are we playing?" Castiel asked.

The Morning Star got its name because it was the brightest star in the sky before sunrise. It had been a long time since Castiel's brother had shined – but as they played, song after song – Castiel remembered how bright his brother could be. He flashed back to home videos of concerts and recitals, childish renditions of their favorite musicals. Lucifer was always the star. He always popped to the front, even if he was hiding in the back.

From the corner of his eye, Castiel watched his brother sway, fingers pressing into strings with grace and strength – confidence. Even John and Bobby joined the boys on the couch, listening to instrumental versions of songs – some of them they knew, but most of them they didn't.

They were smiling at the end of _Paradise_ by Coldplay, Sam's fingers tightening around Dean's forearm, and the older boy didn't shake his brother off. They were clapping along to _The Devil Went Down to Georgia_ , even though Castiel and Lucifer were laughing at how strange it sounded without their brothers' guitars and drums.

One song, Castiel knew all three Winchesters liked. It was a song he caught Dean humming from time to time, when he thought Castiel couldn't hear him. Sam asked him to put it on his iPod so he could listen when he went running. John had it playing on a cassette tape (seriously, Sam was the only Winchester who lived in the correct _decade_ ) and when Castiel told Lucifer, they found sheet music online and videos on YouTube and learned it.

Lucifer thought it would be nice – considering the Winchesters invited him to their family dinner – to give them something the family could enjoy.

But Castiel could tell from the first few notes that something was going wrong here. The music was played correctly – parts of it Lucifer had arranged himself when he didn't like the versions they found online. They started together. For the most part, Lucifer played the vocals and guitar, Castiel played the background sounds.

It sounded beautiful.

And when his fingers hovered over the keyboard and Lucifer let his instrument drop to his sides after the last note, confusion displayed on his face at the tension.

They glanced at the Winchesters.

Sam was the only one trying. His jaw was set, eyes shining, but he reaching for Dean, looking past him to John. The older Winchesters were posed the same way: elbows on their knees, head hung, staring at a spot on the floor.

Lucifer frowned at Castiel; his brother shrugged.

Bobby was suddenly standing, running damage control. "Has your boy showed you the Impala, yet?" He was asking John. The father, grateful, stood and left with Bobby without a word. Dean's hands became fists on his knees. When he stood, he was shaking. He was halfway up the stairs before he shot a line back about needing to grab something.

Castiel tried to go after him, but Sam said, "Let him be alone for a minute. That was… really great, guys. Beautiful. Thank you."

"We didn't know," Lucifer offered. "There are songs I can't listen to because of my Father." Castiel wasn't sure which father he was talking about – probably both. So he just looked back at the keyboard.

"Could you sing something? I used to like listening to you sing at church."

Castiel looked up. Lucifer had always been good at hiding his embarrassment – at least, in his face. Lucifer's ears were pretty red, and he looked down. The prideful boy always shied away from actual, genuine compliments.

When Sam couldn't decide what he wanted the boy to sing, and Lucifer had set his violin down on the end table, it somehow came to Castiel. His fingers hovered over the keys and he looked up at his brother. "You have to sing the girl part, though. My voice has changed a lot since we last sang this together."

The look of question on Lucifer's face made Castiel smile. From the first chord, the blond boy recognized the song. It only took two more notes for Sam to recognize it too. The first song in RENT: _Seasons of Love_. One of Anna Novak's personal favorites.

One of Sam's, too.

By the end of it, Sam was singing along, standing close enough to Lucifer that they may be the only two people in the world. Neither raised a hand to touch the other, but Sam was looking up at Lucifer, and the older boy's hand twitched at his side. Like he wanted nothing more than to pull him in and press him to his chest.

Castiel went upstairs to check on Dean.

"We… uh… RENT was my mom's favorite musical. Once, we acted it out and dressed up and everything. We filmed it, actually. I was nine."

"Who were you?" Sam was breathless in a way he shouldn't be. Not standing here. Not with Lucifer.

"Roger," Lucifer did reach out then, brushing his fingers cross Sam's forehead, tucking hair behind his ears. Sam closed his eyes, so he missed the smirk forming on Lucifer's face. "Gabriel was Angel. He was adorable in drag. Michael even taught him how to drum – let him borrow his sticks."

Sam's eyes shot open with a smile, "No way. Your mom let your six-year-old brother dress in drag? Isn't that amoral or corrupting the youth or something?" Lucifer frowned, like he never thought about it before. Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and started pushing some keys, texting someone. "I mean, the whole musical, actually. Half the characters are gay – one's a stripper heroin junkie – four have HIV. Aren't those kind of heavy topics for a six?"

Lucifer frowned, "Well, Gabriel was six. Zachariah was thirteen. The rest of us fell in between."

Sam's phone buzzed and the younger boy opened it. A wide smile spread onto his face. Lucifer grabbed the phone and looked. It was the front of their DVD cover for the musical. First was Zachariah-as-Benny looking all business and angry and Michael-as-Mark holding a video camera that was newer than the one his counterpart used. Gabriel was really freaking adorable in drag, Uriel-as-Collin's hand on his shoulder. Lucifer remembered Raphael had fought their mother because Balthazar had hit him right before this picture was taken so he didn't want to hug him. Raphael was Joanne and Balthazar was Maurine. His younger brother's wig was slightly off-centered, which had been Raphael's only payback for the punch.

The leather jacket Lucifer was wearing was too big and rolled up so his hands wouldn't get lost in the material. He had an arm around Castiel's neck, pulling the younger boy to his chest. Castiel's hands were on his arm. Castiel – unlike his brothers – refused to wear a wig or even dresses to play Mimi. Instead, their mother dressed him in leather pants, a red shirt, and fishnets.

The Novak children looked happy.

Lucifer pushed the phone back, wishing they could go back to that.

* * *

Dean cheered up easily. Castiel was between his boyfriend's legs and if the grip on his hair and the slew of curse words falling from Dean's lips were any indication, he had forgotten all about _Carry on My Wayward Son_.

"Do we have time?" Dean's eyes opened a sliver, but shut again when Castiel found what he was looking for. Dean curled his toes and arched his back, repeating the question with more intensity.

"I assume so," Castiel breathed at Dean's thigh. "Your father is gone. Our brothers are downstairs entertaining each other."

"I – uh – I don't like how that sounds," Dean tugged at Castiel's hair. The younger boy obeyed, crawling up his boyfriend's body to place kisses on his neck. "What're they doing?"

Castiel drew back, sitting on his knees between Dean's legs, fumbling with his own pants. Dean opened his eyes, frowning at the smirk on his boyfriend's lips. "I'm sure Lucifer isn't doing anything to your little brother that you haven't done to his."

Dean sat up then, too, yanking his boyfriend's pants off of his hips, before pulling Castiel down on top of him. "We need to fucking hurry up, then."

Castiel just chuckled and obliged. He kissed Dean to consume the groan. Dean was always louder when they were like this, when Castiel took control. No need to alarm their brothers.

* * *

"Are you going to college?" Sam asked when Lucifer's fingers pushed on Sam's, showing him how much force he needed to use to make the correct sound. Sam ran the bow across the string, but it didn't so much make a note as squeak.

"Where would I go?" Lucifer asked, pushing another of Sam's finger's down. "And for what?"

"I dunno," Sam looked at the blond boy. The concentration as he guided Sam's fingers, the patience when Sam ultimately made a mistake, the affection filling his blue eyes when Sam managed to get a note right. "You could be a music teacher. Or vocal performance. Or anything, really. You could apply all over the country. California… or NYADA. Get the hell out of Kansas."

Lucifer laughed, eyes leaving the violin in Sam's hands to find his hazel eyes. "NYADA doesn't really exist. And besides, what chance do I have at that? I have an empire building around me. Why would I want to get out of Kansas now?"

"You do," Sam said, lowering the violin to his lap. "I do, anyway. I'm thinking I want to go to Stanford. Maybe for law." Sam frowned. "You can't be a gang leader forever."

"No, I suppose not," Lucifer frowned. "Isn't that what the Azazel's fights are for? To find my successor?"

Sam shrugged. They don't tell the fighters anything.

"Maybe I'll try then," the older boy was looking at the violin again, avoiding Sam's eyes. "I've always wanted to learn to play the guitar, anyway. May as well go to college for it, huh?" Sam smiled at him. "Do you know any music schools around Stanford?"

Sam's smile exploded on his face.

Upstairs, they heard the door open, followed by socked feet on the stairs. Lucifer nudged the younger boy and whispered, "Do it now."

"Sometimes…" Sam started.

Lucifer sang, "Aaa-oo-OO-oh."

"… something beautiful happens in this world…"

"Aaaaaakon."

"…And you don't know how to express yourself so…"

"And Lonely Island!"

"…You gotta to sing."

Dean frowned, plopping down on the couch that Lucifer and Sam weren't on. He was getting sick of this _I Just Had Sex_ thing that the boys did when they were certain somene did just have sex. Worse, Castiel was grinning. He sat on the couch next to Dean, slipping his hand easily over the his boyfriend's shoulder.

When Castiel changed around a few choice words (specifically "your brother" for "a woman") it got Sam to make a whole slew of angry comments. Lucifer high-fived his younger brother. Dean just wanted to die.

Luckily, John and Bobby returned home and that got everyone to shut up. Lucifer packed up his violin and Castiel removed himself from Dean so he didn't out them by making popcorn. Sam, having recently finished _Glee_ with Castiel, popped the US version of _Shameless_ into the DVD player.

"We have to pick characters," Sam stated and Dean sighed. He didn't know why his brother couldn't just sit and watch a show. Besides, if the younger boy ruined this show that Dean secretly _loved_ he was going to murder him.

"Dean is Fiona, obviously," Sam started.

"And you're Debbie," Dean chimed in, hoping to settle this before the opening credits were over so he wouldn't have to talk over the show. "And Cas is… He's so Lip."

"So Lip," Sam replied, looking at Lucifer, putting serious thought into who the older boy would be.

"He'd be Liam," Dean shoved a fistful of popcorn in his mouth. "Because he's gay."

There was an awkward, tense silence in which Sam gaped at Dean, Lucifer shot daggers from his eyes, and Castiel looked into his lap. Dean's eyes flickered to his dad, trying to read any reaction. Trying to see his response to any gay boy in his house before he outed himself. The look John shot Dean was hard to read, but the disapproval was rolling off of him in waves. Dean swallowed, his throat constricting with rising shame.

"I have never kissed another boy before, Dean," Lucifer said evenly, his frown more annoyed than angry. "I wonder if that could be said for everyone in –"

It was Castiel who shushed him, pushing the popcorn at his brother. "I would like to watch the show then talk about character analysis after, if you don't mind."

The six men sat in a comfortable silence (mostly silence) and just enjoyed each other's company.

* * *

John had asked the Novaks to stay the night. It was only a twenty minute walk back to the Church, but it was past dark and John had changed his bullshit line of _it's dangerous out there at night_ to _a couch has to be better than a sleeping bag_. Lucifer was giving him wide, puppy eyes.

Even though he wouldn't be sharing a bed with Dean, at least he'd be in the same house as him, right? Castiel nodded and Sam got them some blankets.

When John shot the Novaks a brief smile before he climbed the stairs to go to bed, Castiel realized why he was the exception. Dean wouldn't accept a handful of dollars from Castiel two months ago to buy Sam something from a vending machine or to buy Burger King when he was starving. But he asked Castiel to use the thousands of dollars they had saved to bail the alcohol man out of jail. He asked Castiel to borrow another couple of hundred for it – not knowing what it would cost his boyfriend to repay his loan, what it would cost _them_.

Castiel didn't understand what John meant then. He had sold his body to Crowley on faith that it meant _something_ to Dean.

John was more than an alcoholic, absent father. He loved his boys. And when he smiled at the Novaks, wrapped in borrowed blankets and pillows on the couches, giving the homeless teenagers permission to stay here… Castiel understood what it was like to love a father. A father who may be gone at times, but always seemed to come back.

Sam had already said good night and gone upstairs, but Dean loitered in the kitchen, appearing in the living room once John had retired. He beelined for Castiel, collapsing on top of him on the loveseat, hugging him around the middle. Dean never displayed his affection in front of others, so Lucifer rolled away, trying to give them the privacy they hadn't really had all day. All week, for that matter.

"You should be sleeping in the bed with me," he whined, quietly, like he didn't mean for Lucifer to hear, but he heard him anyway. "I don't sleep well without you."

Castiel sighed. Lucifer was pretty sure that actresses who played Juliet couldn't put that much emotion into the sound, "It won't be forever."

Dean made another whining sound that made him seem younger, like it didn't make sense to him why he couldn't have his way and the world was just massively _unfair_. Then they grew silent. After a few minutes, Lucifer rolled over and dared a peek.

Castiel was on his back, and Dean barely fit between his side and the back of the couch. There was a blanket between him, but the older boy was curled up to his brother's chest, his hand over his heart, Castiel's fingers playing in Dean's hair.

Lucifer wanted that.

He never knew his brother was capable of love to this extreme. He had always been withdrawn – like Uriel had been, emotionless, but with more respect for human life – and quiet. But when Lucifer saw them together like this, it was almost painful to watch.

When Dean leaned up and kissed him, after minutes of silent cuddling, it wasn't some steamy harlequin novel kiss either. It was brief, a cute thing that was mostly smile meeting smile, and Dean rolled off him, landing ungracefully on the floor.

Castiel smiled.

Dean did too. He shot a look at Lucifer, and the blond Novak was surprised to see Dean didn't look embarrassed about the display: the cuddling, the kissing, or the fall. He just raised his arm, gesturing good bye and said, "Good night, Lucifer."

"Sweet dreams," he replied. And he really meant it.

Castiel was falling asleep fast, but something Sam had said earlier had stuck with Lucifer. He licked his lips and reached his hand over the armrests, patting Castiel's hair.

"You seriously cannot come any closer to me tonight, brother," Castiel joked, his voice already laced with sleep. "I think John catching us cuddling would require more explaining than John catching me and Dean cuddling."

"Castiel, why do you think mom let us make our own version of RENT when we were young?" Lucifer rolled onto his back, staring at the tiles in the ceiling. "Gabriel was only _six_ and he was in drag. She didn't even censor Michael when Mark says the f-word in _Tango Maurine._ "

"It was her favorite, Lucifer," Castiel yawned. "To change it would be to bastardize it."

"Just… listen to me a minute. Don't fall asleep yet. Gabriel was in _drag_. Not even like Bale or Raphy or you acting a girl's part. He was a dude. In drag. I mean, you were a HIV-positive _heroin_ addict at eight, Castiel. Four of the eight of us played gay characters," Lucifer paused. When Castiel didn't answer, he went on.

"Remember _La Vie Boheme_? It was her favorite song. I remember Michael and her and me listening to it on the way to soccer practice. Michael actually _said_ 'mucho masturbation,' and mom never told us not to do it. That spilling seed was a sin. _She_ never said that stuff. And in the song they're telling us all these things we have to live for, and in the end they sing, 'to sodomy, it's between God and me,' and I've been thinking. Maybe mom wouldn't have cared that you are gay… that I am… I'm so fucking in love with a guy I can't think sometimes."

Lucifer paused again, searching the tiles for the answers. "Maybe mom would have loved us anyway."

When Lucifer stopped talking, he was sure Castiel had fallen asleep. An inappropriate amount of time passed before he heard his brother roll over, facing him in the dark.

"Mom would have hugged us, Luci. She would have hugged us and said 'I know' and 'All I ever wanted was for you to be happy' and she would kick Michael's teeth out if she knew what he did to you."

Lucifer nodded in the dark. They didn't say anything else and Castiel fell asleep a few minutes later.

* * *

Sam wasn't sure what woke him, but suddenly he was awake and panting, grasping the tail end of a dream that was fading fast. He couldn't remember. He didn't so much want a drink of water as he wanted to see Lucifer, but in his sleep addled mind, water was a good enough excuse. He shoved his covers off and threw shorts on over his boxers.

The youngest Winchester wasn't exactly sure when he knew something was wrong, but it was certainly before he hit the landing and saw Lucifer wasn't on the couch. Even in the dark, it didn't take Sam long to find him. He was sitting with his back against Castiel's couch; his brother was sleeping behind him. His knees were to his chest, toes angled in, fingers pressed deep in his hair. Lucifer was rocking back and forth, but his head was moving side to side in the same trance-like way Castiel got sometimes when he was learning a new song on the piano.

Sam called out to him, but he didn't answer. He only stopped rocking when Sam walked up to him and sat down, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Lucifer's hands fell from his hair; there was blood under his fingernails. He stared at them for a moment, before running his hands back through his hair with the pads of his fingers. When he found where he was bleeding, he checked his hand again. Sam sat on his knees, parting the hair around the wound to see.

"It's not too bad," Sam breathed. "Just stop digging at it."

Lucifer brought his arms to his chest, but not quick enough. Sam grabbed his wrist and pulled it toward him, exposing the bandages over his forearms. Lucifer kept staring at that spot on the floor. The younger boy peeled the bandage back, gasping at the wound underneath. It was scabbed over now, but it was big. It seemed to look even worse now – the white, dead skin was too painful to pull off and the skin beneath hadn't healed enough to make picking at it possible without bloodshed.

The younger boy's eyes scanned over the faded scars decorating his arms, proving what this was. That it wasn't a onetime thing. An accident.

Sam held up his hand, and Lucifer offered his other arm to show the matching wound.

"What happened?" Sam asked, pushing the bandages back in place, taping them down.

Lucifer's pale eyes found Sam's in the darkness. The whites of his eyes were red, like maybe he had been crying a while ago, but his face was dry now. He pulled his arms to his chest again, and looked back to that spot on the floor.

"Castiel says that his therapist tells him that it's like having a cold. It sucks when you have it, and you have to blow your nose and you're coughing and sick. But your body gets rid of it, eventually. You don't stay sick forever so you have just ride it out. He says depression is the same."

Sam frowned, "I don't understand."

"They didn't tell you," Lucifer answered. "I know Dean knows. Why wouldn't they tell you? What am I to you?"

"Lucifer…"

"I tried to kill myself, Sam. A week ago. That's why Castiel has been staying with me," Lucifer's eyes found Sam's again, but he looked angry, bitter. "Not because of your dad, or whatever excuse they told you. Because of me."

"Why?" Sam asked, resting his back against the couch. He couldn't believe Castiel was still sleeping, but it's not like they were talking super loud either.

"Why not?"

Sam put his hand over Lucifer's arm and leaned into the older boy. He didn't move – he just kept staring at that spot on the ground. Even when Sam leaned his head on Lucifer's shoulder and Castiel started mumbling in his sleep.

* * *

 **Crowley:** I'm back, angel. Got a meeting set up with my supplier in thirty. Meet me at Starbucks.

Starbucks seemed to be a strange place for a dealer and a supplier to meet, but after kissing Dean goodbye, Castiel rushed to the Starbucks nearest Crowley's house. The older boy was sitting by the fire place, and he stood when he saw Castiel. A real gentleman. They didn't kiss, and even though Castiel jogged to meet the older boy, they didn't hug. Aware of the nature their relationship – their _deal_ – they just sat down by the fire place and waited for the supplier. As an afterthought, Crowley pushed a Vanilla Bean Frappuccino with no whipped cream toward the younger boy. Castiel didn't want to know how Crowley knew it was his favorite.

"I got us some absinthe," Crowley said. "I got you all sorts of stuff."

Castiel smiled, looking down. He suddenly thought of Lucifer and how he didn't have to fuck his brother nine times to pay off a debt. Unlike the boy on the other side of the fireplace, who was leaning forward, desperately. Crowley missed him, no doubt about it. And Castiel had missed Crowley too.

"You want to pay off another hundred later?"

Around then, before Castiel could answer, two men walked in. One was wearing a suit; one looked to be a type of body guard. Castiel kept his hands in his lap and let Crowley do all the talking. He was really good at that, after all. Looking pretty and saying nothing.

The men were named Dick Roman and Edgar. Crowley somehow knew Dick from a long time ago. They didn't really talk about it. It was a lot less glamorous than Castiel thought it would be. Dick asked about Crowley's mother – Crowley flushed and started mumbling. Castiel started thinking up as many dick jokes as he could for later.

Crowley and Dick had matching suitcases and they switched. The twenty-something year old supplier opened his new case. Money. Thousands of dollars by the looks of it. Maybe two or three. Crowley opened his. Prescription bottles. Dime-bags of pot. Balloons of heroin. Castiel felt himself licking his lips before he was aware he was doing it.

"You brought a junkie, Mister Crowley?" Dick's voice was light, and his eyes were playful. The concern was displayed in his eyebrows, though. He knew he was better than this. He thought he was smarter than them. Castiel frowned.

"He's the best runner I've ever seen," Crowley shut the suitcase and stood up. He frowned, as if personally offended by the jab. Which, maybe he was.

"Oh," Dick Roman stood as well, which meant Edgar stood. "You're Jimmy, then?" He extended his hand. "I've heard a lot about you. A regular king of the playground. Selling in daylight to high-class clientele."

Castiel remained silent, but shook the supplier's hand.

"You have a future, Jimmy. If you stay alive," Dick smiled at Crowley – the younger boy was nearly growling at him – but Dick just laughed and winked. "Until we meet again, Mister Crowley."

It wasn't until the Bentley was parked next to his father's Rolls-Royce that Crowley asked the question again. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, like he was actually afraid of the answer. Like they didn't have a deal. Like Castiel could turn him down without owing him a large sum of money he didn't have. Owing more than money in return.

"You want to stay tonight?"

Castiel ran his fingers over the briefcase, feeling the ridges under the sensitive pads. "I haven't left Lucifer alone yet. I imagine I go back to Dean tomorrow night. Lucifer's usually alright on school nights."

"Do you think he's alright?" Crowley asked, daring a look at the younger boy. He was concerned for Lucifer. Castiel remembered when he stripped for the homophobe – how he thought he didn't feel anything for Crowley – and how he wished that were still true. This guy was one of his best friends and look how they fucked that up. How they were about to fuck it up again – and do it eight more times after. "Your brother?"

"I can't baby sit him my whole life, can I?" Castiel asked. Though, to be honest, Lucifer already knew he wasn't coming home tonight. Or tomorrow night. He'd be back Monday after visiting the Winchesters. Lucifer and Dean could split his time. And when one thought he was with the other, he would be with Crowley. Paying of his debt.

He tried to think if John was worth it in moments like this. He'd bite his lip and say _yes_. If he was good enough for Dean, he was good enough for Castiel.

The grin on Crowley's face was heartbreaking. He pulled out his notebook and wrote down _Nov 24 - $100_. Castiel wrote his nickname next to the payment and thought _eight more_ as he walked inside the house with Crowley.

* * *

Everything was working out. Four nights a week, Castiel would sleep at the Winchesters. If John ever wondered why the Novak boy sometimes showed up exhausted around 8 pm, then helped Sam cook dinner, then greeted Dean at the door, he never asked. If he ever wondered why Castiel slept in Dean's room on these nights, he never asked about that either. Instead, he greeted Castiel with a small smile and let him sit on the couch in silence until Sam bounced in a few minutes later ready to start dinner.

On the nights Castiel wasn't sleeping at the Winchesters, he was usually there for a bit anyway. A few nights a week, Lucifer was with him. He and Sam would be deep in a conversation about art or world domination when they were in the living room. Other days, Castiel would flop onto the couch next to John, and Lucifer would toe off his shoes, following the younger Winchester to his room.

Lucifer had his days.

He had more on-days than off-days, but his bad ones were horrible. Some mornings, Castiel would wake up to the alarm and Lucifer would be sitting with his knees to his chest in the corner – he hadn't slept all night – but he was too proud to wake his brother to help him. His fingers would be covered in blood where he dug holes into his scalp. When Lucifer was on, he was on. The club was set to open just before New Years. The scabs were falling off his wrists on their own and Lucifer even remembered to put stuff on it to help reduce the scarring.

It was the week before Christmas that Crowley approached Castiel with another deal. A month had passed since their last Deal – the thousand dollars in exchange for sex. In the past 30 days, Castiel had shot himself full of heroin 26 times. Once he ran out, and the other three times were nights he spent with Dean. He needed the drug even more now than he ever had – he needed it to face the boy behind him and their Deal.

They were in the Church's kitchen – their usual haunt – and Ruby was training Sam in the dining hall. The next fight was the first of January, and after the last round, everyone had broken off and started training as they saw fit. Ruby saw it fit that Sam train every day. Not that the younger boy was actually complaining. He was only two inches shorter than Castiel now – five inches shorter than Lucifer and Dean – and his shoulders and chest had grown almost impossibly large with the training. The childness was melting from Sam's face every day. He was on his way to being a very handsome man.

He was currently doing pushups with his trainer sitting on his back.

"Florida's regulations on medication aren't very… well… regulated. There are pill mills down there. When we get down there, we can go to numerous doctor's pill mills and get a bunch of prescriptions. We fill them down there and bring them up here and sell them. We'd make a fortune and cut out that dick of a middleman."

Castiel turned to face Crowley. He had two Macbooks set up in front of him, his eyes alternated between one and the other. The new one was a Christmas gift from his parents a week early, so he'd have time to get it ready before the holiday started.

Castiel just thought Crowley found it hidden in the closet and decided to open it.

"We?" Castiel asked, turning back to the window to watch Sam.

"Well, yeah. I can't drive to Florida by myself. It's a twenty-something hour trip," Crowley's eyes flickered from his old Mac to his new one, then to Castiel. "And I figured we're about due for another payment. I'll give you a hundred off for the trip, if you deliver, and I'll give you two thousand in cash for going with me."

"Why in the hell would you do that?" Castiel frowned. Ruby was giving Sam water, pressing herself against him. Sam's hand patted low on the girl's back, fingers brushing against her skin for a second. They were smiling. If Castiel didn't know better, he would think something was happening between them. "That's twice what I owe you. Can't you keep your money and consider us even?"

"No, angel. You pay with your body. I know you've sold enough to pay be back twice over now. Money means nothing to me," Castiel turned and looked at his dealer, his pimp – officially his john. The older boy finished wiping the memory clean on the old Macbook. He shut the computer down. "That old American junker that boyfriend of yours wants to fix up needs parts, right? You can use the money."

Castiel could always use the money.

"Only $100 of my debt will be paid off on the trip?" Castiel asked. He owed $600 still. On their second transaction after Crowley came back from Europe, they'd had a disagreement over what counted as payment. Castiel said when he got off, it counted toward his debt. The older boy had offered as much before before. Crowley argued that no – he was a just generous lover and that didn't count.

Crowley won, of course. It didn't mean Castiel stopped getting off every time – sometimes multiple times – and he sort of hated himself for it. He sort of hated Crowley for it.

Crowley smiled at him, "If you want me to fuck you more than that, I will. Only a hundred will count though."

But Castiel really hated how he sort of didn't hate Crowley for it. How he was high almost all the time now, and he loved the high that Crowley brought. The absinthe and pot. Snorting his Adderall and chasing with ecstasy and some days, they'd be late to school because they were still fucking from the night before. Their deal changed last time from $100 for sex to $100 a night – depending on the drug, they could go three or four times before they finally crashed and passed out. As much as Castiel _hated_ to admit it, the sex was good. Crowley really loved him. But it didn't matter. He loved Dean. He was only doing this at all because of Dean.

"I'll talk to Dean about it," Castiel stated. Which was as good enough as saying _yes, I'll go_ because Dean was too understanding. He was too wrapped up in his own shit to notice anything about Castiel. How sometimes Castiel'd be so high, he'd black out for hours and snap too halfway through sex or in the middle of a conversation with Dean. How, on the nights Crowley wanted payment, he'd accept Castiel leaving without question – assuming he was going to Lucifer's.

Dean would walk Castiel outside and snap the leash off his collar and let him run wild. Castiel _needed_ a shorter leash. He needed Dean to say _no_. _No you're not fucking doing heroin anymore. You're not snorting your amphetamines faster than Rite-Aid can refill them, and you're not, under any circumstances, fucking Crowley again. I'll fucking kill him first._

"Here," Crowley was beside him, one hand on Castiel's lower back, the other holding the old Macbook out in front of them. "A gift."

"Sell it on eBay," Castiel frowned. "Use that money to pay off my debt."

Crowley sat the laptop in front of the younger boy with a sigh and started walking back to the cabinet with the drugs in it. "Don't be a bitch, you drama queen. You enjoy it too much to hate it. And I know, okay? I've seen my fair share of faking it. You don't fake anything, angel. And you don't fool anyone."

Crowley was digging through the drawer. Castiel pulled the laptop closer to him. "Give it to your fucking pauper boyfriend for all I care. I'm not really threatened by him anymore," Crowley stopped searching and closed the drawer.

"Here," He said, and Castiel turned just in time to catch the Oxys that Lucifer got when Michael broke his arm back in September. "Between now and the 27th start handing them out to non-addicts for free. We're going to Florida the 27th. Be back by the 29th if we drive all fucking night and the club opens the 30th."

Castiel was about to pocket the bottle when Crowley ordered, "What have you had today?"

The younger boy didn't think of questioning. "Xanax for breakfast. Pot and Adderall for lunch. I was gonna shoot up in a minute. Soon as you shut up."

"Take an Oxy instead. Beta test it. What's it like compared to heroin?"

Castiel popped the cap off, shoving a tablet so far down his throat he didn't need a sip of water to chase it down. He turned the faucet on and drank anyway. "There won't be a comparison. There never is."

"Good," They were hidden far enough in the room so that Ruby and Sam couldn't spot them. Crowley pressed himself to Castiel's back, kissing at the younger boy's neck and shoulder. "Get them nice and addicted to the expensive stuff then jack up the price of the cheap, more addictive drug. Just what you're good at."

Castiel was high all the time now. Maybe that's why he pushed his hips back against the older boy's. Maybe that's why he always did. Crowley was his dealer, first and foremost. Before any deal for sex and money was ever made. He equated his high with his dealer, and being high was his favorite thing in the world.

Castiel wasn't too high to know that this was wrong. Not the Deal itself – Dean loved having John around, and John seemed like he was really trying to stay sober this time – but the fact that he enjoyed it so much. He shouldn't enjoy delivering his end of the Deal so much.

But Crowley always brought the drugs when Castiel made a payment.

And, oh God, did he enjoy it.

* * *

Later, when asked, Castiel admitted that he didn't really remember that Christmas too well. He remembered that he wrapped the laptop in Charlie Brown wrapping paper, and wrote "To Sam and Dean" on it. He knew that happened because Dean was pissed that he wrote Sam's name first. He didn't remember what he got Sam, but he remembered he bought Dean a collection of Vonnegut books.

He didn't remember what any of the Winchesters got him, but he remembered they each got him _something._ Things that he doesn't have any more.

He remembered that he didn't even go home that Christmas. He didn't know if any of his brothers got him anything. But he doubts they did.

Castiel did remember two things with clarity.

He remembered that Dean was half awake already when Sam burst in the room declaring that Santa came. Dean's arm was under Castiel's neck, and his arm was bent and locked around him, hand resting on his shoulder. His other hand was rubbing circles on his hip, pushing his shorts a little farther down each time he rolled the boy's hip back, grinding himself forward.

Dean pressed kisses into Castiel's hair, before he adjusted his hold and sat up on his elbow, kissing the younger boy's shoulder.

Castiel rolled onto his back, stretching his hands lazily over his head to look at Dean. His eyes seemed greener in the morning, like the specks of gold were the last part to awaken. He didn't see his boyfriend move, but felt a hand running down his sternum. He palmed the xiphoid process and turned his wrist, so his fingers led the charge down his stomach instead of his palm.

"You're losing weight still," Dean commented, eyes still on Castiel's face.

It was the heroin. He had always been skinny, but since taking up the drug he'd dropped almost thirty pounds. He was tall – way too freaking tall to weigh just over a hundred pounds. Skeleton was an accurate description.

"It's the drugs," Castiel admitted. "Xanax makes me nauseous and Adderall speeds up my metabolism."

But it was the heroin, and Castiel knew that. But he said the truth. He never really lied to Dean.

Dean rested his hand on Castiel's hip bone. With his arms above his head and his legs stretched, the bone jutted beneath the skin. There was nothing to his hips anymore. He bruised easily. Dean always felt bad about it, but Castiel liked the finger marks because they infuriated Crowley. His dealer couldn't mark him – as per their Deal – and seeing Dean's marks reminded him that this was an arrangement and nothing more.

The younger boy wasn't sure if he turned to Dean or his boyfriend pulled at him, but they were suddenly kissing. It was the slow, lazy kisses that got Castiel so riled every time. Like Dean could just sit and kiss him all day. He was a few seconds away from attacking the boy when the door opened. Dean looked up, saw it wasn't his dad, and went back to kissing his boyfriend, adding, "You need to fucking knock, Sammy," against Castiel's lips.

Sam wasn't bothered by their displays anymore. Not really. "Santa came," The younger boy didn't believe in Santa anymore – he lost that a long time ago – but the words remained a code meaning _get your ass downstairs we have presents._ "Lucifer's here." He added as an afterthought. "Want me to send him up? He jokes, but I don't think he'd really like to see you man-handling his little brother."

Castiel groaned, but got out of bed and took a Xanax before he started pulling a shirt over his head that was the same color as his shorts. Sam ran down the hall to wake up John.

The things Castiel actually did remember about that Christmas were spotted. He remembered the look on Sam's face when he opened the iPod from Lucifer. (But Castiel couldn't remember what Lucifer gave him, his own brother). He remembered the way that Lucifer opened his gift from Sam, the way the acoustic guitar (a cheap, second hand thing) sat on his lap. The way the boy ran his fingers down the strings.

Very specifically, Castiel remembered the way Lucifer stood from his spot on the floor and held his hand down to the youngest Winchester. How he pulled him up and tightened his arms around the smaller boy's waist. Lucifer ducked his head, pushing his face into Sam's neck. Sam's fingers twisted in the hair at the base of Lucifer's neck.

Lucifer let go, smile wide and full of affection. He remembered Sam looking up chords for Lucifer on the MacBook Castiel gave the Winchesters. It was the second thing he did after creating a Facebook account.

He remembered Dean pulling Castiel against him, even though John was sitting on the other couch, so the two of them could read _Breakfast of Champions_.

Castiel didn't remember where he hid Crowley's present all day, but he remembered knocking on his window just after dinner with it pressed inside his trench coat. The older boy frowned at him as he eased into the basement, keeping one arm placed under the bulge in his coat to keep the thing from falling. Castiel stepped off the couch and Crowley reached toward the thing.

"Did you fucking hurt yourself?" He asked commenting on the awkward entrance in the window. He didn't wait for a response. He started pushing the coat back, frowning at the small head that peeked out at him. It was a small dog – black ears and forehead, brown over its nose and mouth and paws. Castiel held the puppy out to Crowley. The ears were too big for his body, but the paws were massive. He was going to be a huge dog.

Crowley took the puppy, cupping him to his chest. He made a small yipping noise, his tiny head turning back to the other boy and trying to wiggle out of Crowley's arms. Crowley patted his head, fingers scratching behind the dog's ears, and the puppy stilled.

"Merry Christmas," Castiel offered.

Crowley let the puppy down. He padded to Castiel instantly, stumbling over his giant paws. He crashed into the younger boy's legs, then yapped at him like it was his fault for standing there. Castiel sat down, and Crowley sat down across from him.

"Have you named him yet?"

Castiel shook his head. The puppy bounced past Castiel and started sniffing at Crowley's outstretched hand. He tipped his head back, tonguing the fingers of the hand that would soon feed him. Crowley smiled. It was a rare smile that Castiel was seeing more of recently. Typically it showed up after sex, when Castiel was on his back, his wrist over his forehead, eyes shut, and a stupid grin of satisfaction on his face. When he finally opened his eyes and looked, Crowley would be full of pride and adoration. The older boy would run a hand down Castiel's sweat-slicked chest before pulling him over to cuddle.

"I've been calling him Growley," the little fur ball glanced at the younger boy at the name. "But feel free to name him something else."

When Castiel stood at the window to leave, the puppy had nestled itself deep into Crowley's blankets. He couldn't jump up on the bed yet himself, but Castiel had picked him up and sat him there. Crowley told him he was setting a bad example – letting him do things that he shouldn't be doing – but gave up the fight when his angel sprawled out next the puppy. Only one of them remained, now. The other was making his way back to his boyfriend's house.

Their goodbyes had gotten far more awkward since Castiel started trading sex for money. The younger boy liked to think it was just like any other transaction. But when Crowley was just trading him drugs for money, or even drugs for the occasional blowjob, there had never been this tension when leaving. That _do you kiss you_ or _do I not_?

Crowley always tried, but Castiel always ducked away.

"Thank you," Crowley's pointer finger was digging at a hangnail on his thumb. "For the gift, I mean. The puppy. I love him."

"You shouldn't be alone so much," Castiel admitted. "You deserve to be happy too."

"I am happy," Crowley insisted, taking a step forward. "Sometimes."

He extended his hand, palm up. Castiel hesitated. It wasn't an attempt at a kiss or anything. It was a display of submission, which for the older boy was something much more than affection. Castiel slid his hand into Crowley's, but climbed out the window before he could think about it anymore.

* * *

Lucifer rolled his eyes when he found out that Castiel didn't remember what he had given him that Christmas, and proceeded to take out his phone. Years later, _phones_ later, he unlocked the screen and pushed it across the table after hitting play.

"This is what that idiot got me for Christmas," Lucifer leaned back, crossing his arms in an easy, comfortable way. He tipped back in his chair a little bit, bright eyes dancing about the café as the video played. Two girls walked by with coffees, giggling once they caught the boy's eye and recognized him. A smile spread on his face, sending crow's feet dancing in the corners of his eyes (far too many for 27), and winked at the girls, all the while, twisting the black band on his finger.

The pale eyes fell, his eyes meeting mine, the grin spread, and he pointed at the phone again. "Do you care what he gave me or not?"

I looked back at Lucifer's phone.

Castiel was on the camera, adjusting the angle of his phone to make sure he was in the shot. "Sam?" he called, drawing his hands from the camera. "Alright, Lucifer," Castiel smiled. "Merry Christmas."

Sam appeared in screen a few seconds later, frowning at the older boy like he was busy or something. "Just sing it one more time, Sam," Castiel begged. "This time, close your eyes and imagine you're singing it _to_ someone. Don't focus on the notes as much as the emotion."

Sam frowned, but it melted away at the song they had been rehearsing for weeks. It started low, and the young boy was a good singer. Especially with Castiel's training. He certainly didn't sound like Beyoncé, but that was the beauty of it.

" _Standing in the light of your halo, I've got my angel now."_

As the notes got higher, Sam's eyes shut, focusing on hitting them. Castiel sang quietly, an octave lower for support. Regardless, the scrunched look on the young boy's face proved he didn't know he was being recorded. And that made all the difference to Lucifer.

" _You're the only one that I want, think I'm addicted to your light,"_ Sam's eyes opened and they glanced at Castiel, like he was asking permission. The older boy nodded, and Sam's eyes shut again, smile spreading across his face as he sang, _"I swore I'd never fall again, but this don't even feel like falling…"_

Lucifer took a sip of his cocoa. He waved at someone outside the glass windows of the café, then held up one finger, signaling he'd be out in a second. A door shut on the video and Dean suddenly appeared on screen. He wrapped his arms around Castiel's shoulders, and Castiel started singing louder, trying to look up at his boyfriend. Dean smiled down at him.

All three of them looked so full of love. A triad that worked, despite the fact that they really were two dyads. Sam's other half just happened to be not there physically. They looked so happy. They looked so strong.

"He got me an electric shaver that year, too. You know, so no harmful razors would ever need to be around me. Sad to think that by February everything had gone to shit," Lucifer stood up as he took his phone back, slipping it into his pocket. "I don't just mean Dean and my brother, either. It was everything back then. Michael and the gang. Crowley." The older boy shot a stern look outside the café, holding up a finger again. His fake anger betrayed itself when he threw enough money down to pay both our drinks. So generous of him, considering how much money he was making these days. "I got to meet up with him before he blows a fuse. But you remember that shit that happened back then. After all, you were there."

* * *

Dean apparently did have a line where things started to bother him. That line was drawn at Florida.

When Dean found out about Castiel smoking, he had said _I'm not your mother._ And never complained even if, on occasion, his boyfriend tasted like an ashtray. When Dean found out Castiel had a ton of prescription drugs he took semi-frequently, he had said _whatever helps you make it through the day_. And never complained or questioned when the highs didn't match, because he was doing shots of heroin instead of insulin.

But apparently Dean had something to complain about when Castiel looked up from _Breakfast of Champions_ and said, "Crowley's going to give me two thousand dollars to go to Florida with him tomorrow on a drug run. It's not… well it is illegal, but it's not dangerous. I won't be carting anything over the border. Just drive down there, pickup the drugs from a pharmacy, then drive back."

Dean kept the book open in front of them. He had his arm around his boyfriend, Castiel's head rested on Dean's shoulder, but he wasn't reading anymore. It took too long for him to flip the page. Eventually, he stopped faking it and shoved the bookmark into the novel and set it down on his lap.

"I don't like Crowley," Dean frowned. "I don't like the way he looks at you sometimes. Or talks to you. Or touches you."

Castiel had to hide the smile at Dean's concern. Jealousy was becoming on him. "Crowley knew I was gay before anyone else. He used to swear at me and call me names in the bathroom." Castiel said truthfully, but not entirely honestly. He'd only swear at him after he'd blown him. That was a technicality, right?

"All the more reason not to go. What if you get to Florida and he's overcome with homophobic rage and kills you and cuts up your body and dumps it in the gulfstream?"

"We're not going as far as Miami, Dexter. Chill out," Castiel smiled, but it faded when he noticed Dean wasn't joking. He was serious. He was seriously worried. Castiel found himself smiling again. "It's not for Crowley, not really. It's for Lucifer and for us. Two thousand dollars just for going, and guess who'll be selling when we get back? Your dad hasn't found a job yet, Dean. We could really use the money."

Dean just frowned, so Castiel added, "Your birthday's in a month… don't you want something more than a bunch of books?"

The older boy's look was pained. Castiel knew him enough to be able to read the look – he didn't want something for his birthday, not if it cost Castiel that much. John was the exception. Dean wouldn't ask for anything for himself.

"It's fine," Castiel's voice was a little smaller. He pushed his shoulder back to Dean's side and rested his head on Dean's chest. His hand fell over the older boy's, guiding his hands to open the book. "Are you finished with this page?"

Dean sighed. Castiel would honestly say that in all the time he had the boy had been together, he _had_ used half-truths and technicalities to get what he wanted. He was good at manipulation. This, he swears to this day, was not a manipulation. He would have honored Dean's wishes. They would have been a lot stronger for it. Things might not have turned out the way they did if Dean hadn't sighed.

Sighed and said, "I don't control you, Cas. You can do whatever you want."

"I want to make you happy," Castiel replied, not looking up at his boyfriend. He tried to flip the page but Dean held it down. "I want to make sure you're safe and cared for, but I'm not sure how to do that legally or with ethical means. I don't know how to provide for you everything you deserve. I don't know how anything I do or say can come close to…" Castiel sighed then, but stilled. There was too much to say and no words to express it.

Dean's hands shifted, so Castiel's rested between the book and his hand. He held it there for a moment, and Castiel knew the boy's response. He didn't need those things. He didn't want those things. If Dean were being honest, he'd say that he doesn't think he _deserves_ those things.

Instead, Dean turned the page and said, "Just be careful."

Castiel nodded and shifted, settling himself more comfortably against his boyfriend.

* * *

Having Dean shove Castiel's duffle bag into the back seat Crowley's dad's Rolls-Royce was one of the most bizarre and uncomfortable moments of the younger boy's life. Castiel wondered if that's how trophy wives felt, when their husbands didn't know they were having affairs with the limo driver or the pool boy or the stable hand. Guilty and disgusting. Unworthy of either man forcing a smile at the other, trying to be friendly for Castiel's sake.

(Castiel forcibly reminded himself that his arrangement with Crowley may not be considered adultery. Okay, maybe it was _technically_ , but it was more prostitution than having lust in his heart. Which one was worse? He liked Crowley, but he would always pick Dean over him. That counted for something, right?)

Dean leaned against the passenger's side window as Castiel buckled his seatbelt. He waved at Crowley – Castiel wanted to die – and Crowley smiled back. "You'll call, right?" Dean asked. It took the youngest boy a minute to realize he was talking to him. He shot up a few minutes ago, figuring he could always sleep part of the twenty-some hour car ride to Florida.

Castiel nodded, "Of course, Dean."

"Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to him," Crowley tipped his glasses up on his head, as if showing his eyes to Dean would prove the truth in the statement. The worst thing was he really meant it. Like Dean was letting Crowley borrow his favorite toy – his prized possession – and Crowley was grateful. He'd bring him back in one piece. It wasn't snarky or sarcastic. Just honest and affectionate.

Castiel crossed his arms and sunk a little lower in the seat. He really, really wanted God to just smite him right now. He deserved it.

His only saving grace was when Dean awkwardly tapped the car, flashed Castiel a nervous, unhappy smile, and said, "Talk to you later, then." He turned and walked back to the porch, where Sam was waving. Castiel waved back, and Crowley took off.

"You're dating that guy?" The British teen asked, probably meaning it to sound like a joke. Instead, it came off too genuine, with a real hint of disbelief. Crowley shoved the sunglasses back onto his face, trying to play it cool. "He didn't even say _I love you_ or any of that bullshit that couples do."

Castiel bit his tongue and pulled out a thick book on American Sign Language. He figured keeping his mind and hands preoccupied would make the trip go faster. Keep him ignoring Crowley longer. A few seconds passed, just enough time to where he was starting to forget Crowley was even driving when he saw the older boy shift in his seat. His elbow was resting on the door frame where the window was rolled down. His head was already leaning against his hand, and he drove with just his right hand at twelve o'clock.

The worst of it was when Crowley mumbled, "I would have fucking said it to you."

Castiel barely managed to not make a gun with his fingers and pantomime blowing his brains out. Barely.

* * *

When Castiel woke up it was dark out. He straightened in the passenger's seat, shooting a look at the older boy. Crowley looked tired, but gave the younger boy a smile.

Castiel brought up his hand and wiggled his finger, asking _where_. Crowley frowned a second, before holding up his fist with his thumb on the outside of the pointer finger and then extended his pointer finger and thumb in an _L_. Then he held up one hand, bringing the other to it then back away. Then, he held his pointer finger and thumb an inch apart, then did the first sign over again with the closed fist.

The younger boy beamed. _AL (Alabama) near GA (Georgia.)_

"Are we going to stop for the night soon?" Castiel asked, leaning back into the seat.

"Yeah. Unless you want to drive some more."

Castiel shook his head. He drove for a few hours earlier while Crowley slept. He spent most of that time fighting off a panic attack that he was going to get pulled over and not have a license. Well, other than his fake that said he was his missing-presumed-dead dad.

It took them at least another forty minutes to settle into their room. Ten minutes to cross into Georgia, another twenty minutes for Crowley to find a hotel worthy of him (Castiel _dared_ point out a motel and Crowley almost shit his pants), then another five or so to check in. The second they got to the hotel, Castiel grabbed for the older boy's side bag and pulled out his new Macbook. He sat it on the edge of the bed and started it up.

Crowley rolled in his eyes and walked into the bathroom.

After a few seconds of beeping signaling the call, the screen filled with Sam's face. The younger Winchester turned and called to his brother, but started right in with the questions and happy chatter, like there wasn't a thousand miles between them.

When Dean appeared on screen the older boy actually sighed with relief. Castiel smiled, raising his hand to his forehead, in a friendly salute, then signed four letters. He translated, voice easy, "Hello Dean."

"Hey Cas," Dean smiled.

They chatted for a few moments. Castiel gave a tour of the room, and Sam talked to Crowley about _something_ when the tour panned to his bed, where he was now laying on his back with his phone held above him his head.

Dean asked, "What are you doing the rest of the night? Just going to bed?"

Castiel shrugged, but Crowley laughed. "We passed a strip club down the street. May as well check that out, right?"

The younger boy shot his traveling partner a dirty look, annoyance only barely masking the silent begging of _no_ , but Dean started laughing. Actually laughing. He said, "Alright, well have a good time with that, Cas. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Good night."

And that is how Castiel ended up sitting front and center with Crowley at a strip club.

Though, to be honest, it was less about the half-naked girls in front of them, and more about the shots and shots and shots that kept appearing before him. He needed harder drugs than alcohol, but he'd accidently left everything back in the hotel room.

Crowley was laughing – he had pretty much been laughing since they walked in hours ago – and was paying for every drink Castiel pounded.

These girls weren't so much like the girls on YouTube. Well, they were like the bad ones. Except the bad ones on YouTube kept their clothes on through their bad performance. Castiel's face was still beat red – hours after seeing his first naked girl – and he wondered how anyone could come here and leave aroused. Except for Crowley, but he was a sadist and Castiel was ninety percent sure if the older boy _was_ aroused, it would be because of Castiel's torture. Not the girls.

"Two more, please," Castiel said to the waitress. She was the prettiest one in the joint, but looked too much like his dead mother with too little clothes. When she delivered the drinks, she shot the younger boy a pained, sympathetic look. She'd asked them earlier if they were looking for anything _extra_ and Castiel practically screamed _"I'm gay"_ across the joint, which seemed to go over as well in the small Georgia town as it would in Lawrence, but it made it so the girls weren't actively pursuing him so… win, right?

The drink was gone and Castiel knew he was whining when he said, "Can we go now?"

"Doesn't _Magic Mike_ take place in Florida?" Crowley wasn't paying attention to the bare-breasted blonde in front of him. Instead, he had his head resting in his hand, a devilish smile plastered across his lips as he faced the younger boy. "We can go to a _Magic Mike_ club for you in Florida, but you gotta give me this first."

"I seriously have enough men in my life right now," Castiel continued to whine. "And you're not paying attention to them, you're paying attention to _me_ and it's past midnight and I want to go home… er… back to the hotel. I want to _sleep_ , Crowley."

The next thing Castiel remembered is waking up face down on the bed closest to the door. He groaned as he rolled over – they had too much shit to do today to be this hung over – but the British teen was still sleeping. He was as far away from Castiel as he could be, curled in a ball on the far side of his bed on the other side of the room. He was on top of the blankets; his suit was abandoned in a pile between their beds, but he still wore his pants and a beater.

Castiel barely had the ability to get into his bag to find the prescription bottle of Xanax. He popped one and fell asleep.

The next thing Castiel remembered was waking up in the Rolls-Royce outside a doctor's office. Crowley had punched him in the leg, which started spasming with the charley horse.

"Oh fuck you," Castiel grit his teeth and gripped his leg, trying to decide if straightening it or bringing it to his chest would make it feel better. He just held it halfway between the two.

"Gotta at least be able to limp convincingly. Tell them you broke it playing football or something, but there's still a lot of pain." Crowley leaned back, gritting his teeth. "Okay, punch me now."

"I'll fucking _cut_ you," Castiel growled, but started punching Crowley repeatedly in the leg all the same.

Inside when he was talking to the doctor, Castiel played up the pain in his leg (though not by much) and was rewarded with a prescription slip. They didn't run any sort of check to see what he was already prescribed. Castiel checked in with his fake ID – so he was his father and technically dead and didn't have any prescriptions on his name _anyway_ – but they didn't even check to see if the ID was fake. Not really.

Florida pill mills were a wonderful place.

They hit up a handful of doctor's offices and each one was more than happy to prescribe them bottles of Oxy to help with the pain. By the third doctor, the pain in Castiel's leg was just an angry throb that screamed about how much he hated Crowley. After what seemed like their thousandth visit to a different doctor (but had to be closer to ten), they started hitting up the pharmacies. Crowley paid for their prescriptions. Since they were real Oxies, not just knock-offs with the same active ingredient, they weren't necessarily cheap. But they weren't eighty dollars a pill either, which is what they'd sell them for at the club.

They ended up with over 1,500 pills in just over six hours. If each one got sold for $80, basic multiplication said that they'd up with over $120,000 after everything was said and sold. Castiel suddenly felt cheated by only getting two grand to go on this trip.

Crowley parked near the beach and Castiel held up the seat as the older boy put the drugs in a safe hidden underneath the passenger's seat. Castiel wondered if the hidden compartment came with the car or if Mr. Crowley had reasons to hide things like his son did.

"Are we going home now?"

Crowley checked his watch. It was around 4:30 and Castiel knew his answer before he even asked the question. They only had a couple of hours of light left and then they'd have to stop for the night. If they got up early tomorrow, they'd probably be able to make the whole trip in one day, if they alternated driving and if Crowley sped the whole way.

"Besides," Crowley winked. "I think I owe you a _Magic Mike_ club date."

Castiel just sighed.

* * *

Sam loved Facebook. He loved the Mac which was informally his and his alone, because Dean had barely even touched it. Not that it had been a week since they'd gotten it, but his brother always seemed old fashioned. The latest in technology and social networking were hardly important to him.

But Sam loved watching the interactions unfold like a digital soap opera. Ruby had written on his wall, propositioning him for a date that he certainly didn't want to go on, but probably would anyway. Lucifer spent at least a quarter of their time hanging out talking the girl up to Sam, and it seemed to make him happy. He seemed pleased whenever Sam said he'd think about dating Ruby.

The older boy wasn't here right now, though. He left an hour ago, about ten minutes before Dean showed up from work. John had frowned when he saw Lucifer left without saying goodbye – again – and asked Sam what was up with Dean and Lucifer that they couldn't seem to be in the same room as the other.

"It's Cas," Sam had answered. "Castiel's in Florida and whenever Cas isn't around and Lucifer is, Dean gets bitchy."

John nodded, accepted that as an answer (as if it were totally reasonable and acceptable behavior for a _friend_ ), and went back into the back room to continue folding clothes.

Sam scrolled through his News Feed.

"Hey Dean," Sam called. His brother was upstairs moping, where he had pretty much spent the entire time since Crowley picked up Castiel yesterday. "Crowley posted a video of them in Florida. Bunch'a pictures too. Wanna see?"

His brother probably didn't hear him, because he wasn't running downstairs. Sam flipped through the pictures first – Castiel eating an ice cream cone on a pier, Castiel lifting his shades (freaking Oakley Romeo sunglasses which were worth almost $400) to wink at the camera in an exaggerated unsexy kind of way that was still kind of adorable, one of the two of them sitting on the beach with two feet between them, Castiel looking up at the sky, Crowley looking over at Castiel.

Sam frowned and clicked the play button on the video.

Castiel filled the screen, ripping off his shoes and socks as he sat in the sand. He plunged his bare feet into the sand, just a few inches shy of the tide line. He started rolling his jeans up. The material wouldn't roll any farther up his leg than just below his knee, so he gave up and started with the other leg.

"What are you doing, angel?" Crowley suddenly said from behind camera. Castiel looked up, eyes hidden behind the sunglasses. A smile formed on his face. "I mean, besides making very fashionable Capri pants."

"I'm going in," Castiel said, turning his attention back to his pants. "I've never even seen the ocean before. Why not go in?"

"Because it's dirty?" Crowley offered. "There are sharks and jellyfish and all sorts of stuff."

Castiel stood, grabbing his t-shirt at the hem and ripping it up and over his head. He tossed it next to his shoes, then took his cell phone out of his pocket and tossed that on his shirt.

Sam wasn't sure if he'd ever seen the boy before him without a shirt on, but damn. There was almost nothing to him. Skinny didn't cut it. Anorexic might, if Sam didn't personally feed him burgers and fries all the time. And he was pale, making the shock of black hair on his head and his lower stomach stand out in contrast.

There were bruises and purple streaks on the inside of his left elbow.

"You coming in and living a little?" Castiel asked, but didn't wait for an answer. He walked into the water, splashing as he ran, but not getting his pant legs wet yet. He turned around and grinned at Crowley.

The older boy just yelled, "I just fucking got you those glasses. You better not lose them in the ocean." Before the screen went blank.

Sam sort of wondered if Crowley got in the ocean with the older boy, but he somehow doubted it. Instead of thinking too hard about that, Sam opened another tab and started researching something that had been bothering him for months.

Castiel had had a couple of smaller freak-outs like the one he had after the party on Halloween. Never as major, never to the point where Dean got upset watching him sleep, unsure if he'd ever wake up. They were certainly rare, usually happening late at night or early in the morning – hours before or after the boy would normally eat. And he always cured it the same way. A shot. He'd grab his diabetic bag, go into the bathroom, and come out five or ten minutes later with a dopey smile on his face claiming everything was alright.

Sam knew that wasn't diabetes. Okay? He wasn't stupid and he knew.

He tried "purple streaks inside elbow," "lines inside elbow," and "inside elbow needle" without any real answers. He was sure Castiel wasn't suffering from blood vessel breaks caused by tennis or golfer's elbow. Frustrated, Sam began typing.

"My friend has lines on elbows uses needles acts slow and drugged what it is"

A link to Wikipedia on drug injection. A couple of links down, "how to tell if someone is shooting up roxicodone." Further down a word pops out at him. Heroin. Castiel sells that stuff, maybe that's not all he does with it.

Sam couldn't breathe. He slammed his laptop shut and looked at the stairs leading up to his brother's room. It's a wild accusation based on what could be scratch marks he saw on a blurry video. Dean said he didn't want to know.

Sam should find out more information.

 _But Dean said he didn't want to know_.

* * *

It had only been a few hours since he shot up, but somehow Castiel found himself in the back of a club, cooking more heroin, shooting up again. It was a small dose, he didn't want to die after all, but he shouldn't need more already. It never left his system this quick. And actually – he _didn't_ need more already. He was still pretty high. It was a dangerous state that he got into with Crowley sometimes. A game of _why the fuck not_ that would leave everyone emotionally scarred, physically wounded, or dead.

Crowley's lips were at the back of his neck, murmuring encouragement because the older boy knew that the more heroin pumping through Castiel's veins meant the more likely he was to make a payment on his debt. Even sitting on the couch in the back room, Castiel could _feel_ the thumping of the music from the main hall. It wasn't a gay club, not a male strip club, nothing like Crowley promised. But it was high end. Expensive drinks. Drugs offered everywhere if you know where to look. And Castiel knew the look – he'd seen it on himself in the mirror.

He was pushing himself back into Crowley as the drug hit, washing over him. It felt like the sun hitting his skin in the morning of what would be a hot day. It was still cool now, the sun slowly raising the temperature, but the promise is everything. He capped the needle and pushed it back in his pocket. The candle wasn't his. The drugs weren't his. But he used his own needle. He'd like to think that he'd never need a hit enough to share needles – he'd seen RENT, okay? He'd acted out the role of the heroin addict with HIV – but he wasn't sure anymore.

Thank fucking God he always carried around a needle.

"It's good, huh?" The sleazebag dealer wasn't anything like them. He wasn't selling to Castiel because he's so fucking in love with him it hurts, not like Crowley. And he wasn't so close to his regulars that he knew their name and life story like Castiel does with his junkies. It's a one-and-done thing. Crowley paid. Paid more than he ever charged Castiel but less than Castiel charges his users. "I can do you one better."

Castiel wasn't interested in anything but the warmth of the older boy pressing against his back, the lips that stop moving on his neck, and the thumping of the bass in the other room. He wanted to dance. He wanted Crowley to watch him. Get aroused. Take him back to the hotel. Castiel could pay his debt this high, but he couldn't control the way he likes it. The way it was a cheap substitute for Dean. The way he begged Crowley to hurt him because he deserves it. Doesn't deserve it gentle like Crowley likes to give it. Doesn't deserve it like that from Dean anymore, either.

When Castiel's eyes opened the dealer is gone. On the glass coffee table before them is a pile of white powder. Cocaine. Castiel hasn't ever seen it in person but they show it all the time in reenactments on the crime shows he watches with John Winchester. Crowley cut it into four lines with a razor and Castiel was too high already. He knew it. His hands were shaking in anticipation anyway, but Crowley took the first two lines and Castiel waited his turn.

How many have died from this? A not-quite technical Speedball. Heroin and Cocaine. A lot, Castiel figures. John Belushi. Chris Farley. River fucking Phoenix. Castiel didn't deserve to die like the greats. Two kings of comedy and that little boy from _Stand By Me_. Chris Chambers – Castiel's first crush. The bad boy turned good. Looking back on it now, his type hasn't changed all that much. Chris is fucking Dean Winchester if he was twelve again and they lived in the fifties. All-American boy with jeans and dusty hair, a heart to fucking big. Nothing like what he has now. Nothing like Crowey.

Fucking River Phoenix. Castiel could die like fucking River Phoenix. Face down in a gutter and nobody would care.

Castiel didn't want to put the hundred dollar bill up his nose – it seemed dirty and he told Crowley as much. The older boy laughed at him. He kissed him full on the lips and reminded him he just shoved a needle into his vein. Castiel said that it was his needle and it was different. Money was dirty.

Crowley had said something like more for me then.

Castiel had the hundred dollar bill between his nose and the powder on the table, and he breathed in. Crowley's hand was on his back, pushing him down like he was getting blown and needed to dominate the rhythm. When Castiel leaned back up, drawing his thumb and pointer finger over his nose to make sure he was clean, Crowley was giving him hungry eyes.

The bass was calling his name.

Crowley was leaning over the railing with a scotch in his hand, staring at Castiel. The younger boy knew it. And he knew Crowley liked it. Crowley the voyeur. Sometimes he liked to sit and just watch. So he danced and danced with whoever would come up to him. Even when people wouldn't. He just fucking danced.

They signed across the dance floor.

The first thing Crowley had wanted to know was the swear words. Castiel had searched using Crowley's phone, finding and teaching a magnitude of curses and sex words. All night Crowley was signing profanity at him. His favorite was his right hand extended behind his left; the pointer finger of his left hand making a claw. Technically it meant peacock, but Crowley had dubbed it the perfect secret sign for blowjob and who was Castiel to argue.

This time, Crowley curled his finger, moving making a backwards C from his mouth to his temple. His eyebrows were up in question. Most people would sign _ready?_ if they wanted to leave. Not Crowley. He had signed _sex?_

Castiel held up a finger, gesturing overhead. _One more song_.

Crowley nodded, finishing his drink.

The boy didn't dance to the new song, not really. When the song switched, he danced for a second until something better struck his fancy. He started laughing, waving to catch Crowley's attention as if it ever left him.

Crowley knew the real words of the song, he was sad to admit. They were _1, 2, 3. Not only you and me._ Instead, Castiel held up one finger, then two, then three. Then he pointed at Crowley, then himself, then signed four letters.

Crowley's breath hitched in his throat, as if that were ever an option. Castiel was higher than fuck if he would even joke about it. The next chorus he did the same. The devilish smirk looked good on his angel.

_1, 2, 3. You, me, and Dean._

They needed to get out of the club _now_.

* * *

 **Castiel:** A la hotel. Riding the elevator up.

Castiel's texts usually focused on some weird, miniscule thing he was doing. Dean appreciated it though. His boyfriend was in for the night. He didn't need to worry anymore about him getting mugged or knifed or raped.

 **Dean:** thx have fun?

"Who is it?" Sam asked. John looked up from the TV, but they both knew who it was. There was only one person who ever texted him, present company excluded. Dean didn't warrant the idiotic question with a response.

"Does Cas seem weird to you lately?" Sam asked, like he was fishing for something.

"He always seems weird."

 **Castiel:** Ja. Mucho. But id rather be withyou instead toBe honest. Goodnight Dean i love you

Dean frowned because that was a little abnormal. Certainly they've said it before. Certainly texting it was better than saying it aloud, but it left Dean with a queasy feeling in his stomach. Like when a drunk person texts it. Castiel told him he got hammered last night. Tonight was probably just the encore. Look at those errors!

 **Dean:** Me 2 night.

When he didn't say anything, Sam continued to stare at him like he wanted to tell him something. He'd been that way all day, and it was driving the older boy nuts. Complete bat-shit insane.

"What?" he snapped.

But Sam just looked away and back to the computer.

* * *

 

Crowley had made up the payment of $100 outside the club; he was that eager. Castiel was barely able to sign his name before Crowley was on him. Then they were in the elevator. Castiel only shrugged off Crowley's attempt at marking his neck to text his boyfriend. Crowley pushed him in the room, trying to rip the phone from the other boy's fingers.

The boy whipped his arm back, staring down at the new message with fury. The phone landed on his bed, but bounced to the floor. His eyes were at Crowley.

"Lover boy didn't say he loves you again?" The British boy baited.

Castiel swung.

It connected right at Crowley's ribs. The older boy laughed, not sure if it didn't hurt because of the drugs he was on or the lack of muscle in the attacker, the lack of force. Castiel shoved him against the door and punched him again.

Castiel changed tactics and started clawing at Crowley's clothes, nearly ripping them in an attempt to get them off. He didn't stop there. Once his shirt was abandoned on the floor, Castiel's stubby nails scraped over the other boy's chest and side, leaving angry red lines decorating his skin.

"He must've pissed you off right. Fucking _marking_ me, angel."

Castiel brushed his face against Crowley's, and Crowley hadn't realized how much stubble either of them had until his skin was on fire from the movement. They must look like a pair, looking more like men in Florida than they ever did in Kansas, but pawing at each other like fifteen year old virgins. The anger was radiating from Castiel in waves, crashing over Crowley's body, creating sick jolts of pleasure in the British boy.

"Hit me," Castiel suddenly whispered against Crowley's shoulder. His jaw clenched, and Crowley tried to keep his eyes from rolling back when the teeth were replaced by tongue, smoothing over the new bumps in his skin. He didn't quite succeed. And he didn't warrant Castiel's request with a response.

"Do it," Castiel pulled back, fist connecting below the ribs this time. The British boy didn't even wince. Suddenly, that wasn't enough. Anger flashed in Castiel's eyes again, and Crowley was sure he was going to get beaten. Instead, Castiel's fingers gripped Crowley's wrists, drawing them to his own chest. "Beat me."

"No," The older boy whispered, bracing himself for an impact that didn't come.

"Do you remember when you were texting me those lyrics to get me to sleep with you?" Castiel asked, biting a trail down Crowley's stomach. Winces were not quite hidden behind the British boy's grin, hand fisting deep into the other boy's hair. "You forgot _Closer_. Say it. If you won't hit me back then say it."

Castiel stilled, waiting expectantly and Crowley swore, searching for the first line in the song Castiel knew he knew so well.

" _You let me violate you. You let me desecrate you,"_ It came out in a rough, wrecked whisper and the British boy wasn't singing, but the accent made it even better. Crowley's eyes closes and the younger boy started working his pants open, on his knees before him. Like so many times before. Like back before Dean was ever a thought in his angel's mind. _"You let me penetrate you. You let me complicate you."_

" _Help me,"_ Castiel answered, his hands on him. Crowley's knees already felt weak. He knew his angel was saying the words, but the blood rushed in his ears. The mumbling stopped for a moment – Castiel's mouth was otherwise preoccupied – and Crowley swore again. _"Help me get away from myself."_

" _I want to fuck you like an animal,"_ Crowley all but shouted. There was no pause, and the sound ripped from Crowley's throat was a growl. He knew Castiel baited him. He knew that saying the words would make him _long_ for the words. He knew that was what the younger boy wanted. To be used. To be hurt. To be fucked. His fingers dug into Castiel's scalp harder. _"I want to feel you from the inside."_

Crowley was capable of harm and he yanked Castiel up by the arm like he weighed nothing. He did weigh nothing. And Castiel wasn't seething anymore; he was grinning, full of teeth. And yeah, he'd look pretty with some blood splattering the white. _"I want to fuck you like an animal."_

Crowley shoved him then, but Castiel wasn't expecting it and tumbled head first onto the bed. His hands found the mattress and he started pushing himself up, to his hands and knees. Crowley kept him there, fingers tightening over his hips. Pushing against him, fingers pressing against Castiel's stomach for a moment. Then he was working the younger boy's pants open and down just enough to get at what he wanted. His hands gripped Castiel's hips tight enough to bruise.

" _My whole existence is flawed. You get me closer to God."_

* * *

It felt like hours later when Crowley made a move on Words With Friends and shoved his phone back at Castiel. The room was dark except for the glow from the muted TV and the phone. And they couldn't sleep, thanks to the cocaine. They were both naked on one of the beds, but even though they were teenagers they certainly weren't horny Greek gods and their flesh was weak even if the mind was willing. It wasn't as awkward as it should be. Crowley was laying on his back, head turned to look at his angel. Castiel was on his stomach, elbows on the mattress keeping himself up with the phone between his hands.

There was an itch at the back of Crowley's mind that says Castiel was supposed to be pissed about something. That the claw marks stinging the British teen's back must have been made out of anger; the raised flesh on his chest marking him with hate. But he didn't remember, and the younger boy was docile, sleepy from the heroin, focused on the game.

His hair was a mess, his lips were swollen, and there were bruises on his hips that the blanket was slung too low to cover. Even though the younger boy wasn't complaining, Crowley knew he's lying in a sticky mess. It painted his stomach earlier, and the younger boy couldn't even stand to wash it off. (Crowley offered to help, but Castiel gripped his wrist and pulled him back down, incapable of speech as well as movement at that point).

It was fucking hot. Castiel Novak was fucking hot. Crowley almost felt some stirrings just from watching him, but that was impossible. He was almost in pain with the ache of the past few hours, and he could only imagine what Castiel would feel like in the morning when the drugs wore off.

The song playing in the background changed, and Castiel started singing along. He did that from time to time, but never after sex. He was always a ball of angst and guilt after, but not this time. Crowley wished something was different – that maybe Castiel was starting to love him back or something – but one look at the boy showed that he was still higher than fuck. His hair was plastered to his face, and his back was still shining with a layer of sweat. He looked happy. And he only looked happy when he was completely strung out anymore.

He turned to Crowley, singing to him, pointing to himself. _"I'll move to Paris, shoot some heroin, and fuck with the stars."_ His elbow jabbed at Crowley, _"You man the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars."_

Castiel was so fucking perfect. So fucking beautiful when he was strung out.

"Sing with me, Crowley," Castiel whined, poking the older boy, abandoning the phone on the night stand after he completed his turn on the game. When he looked back, Crowley was singing, too. Quietly.

" _This is our decision: to live fast and die young,"_ Crowley's hand cupped Castiel's cheek, looking up at Castiel with the love so evident in his own chest he wondered how Castiel couldn't feel it as well. How he could love him so much and have Castiel feel nothing for Crowley in return. _"We have the vision. Now let's have some fun…"_

Castiel's elbows slid out from under him, and he rested his head on Crowley's arm, lips pressing into the older boy's shoulder. _"Forget about our brothers and our friends. We are fated to pretend."_

The song went on, but Crowley didn't sing. Castiel could barely be heard, as heroin won out over cocaine and Crowley felt himself crashing, too. Every third beat his body would give a violent tremor, like he was falling, but the jerking didn't seem to stir the younger boy. Near the end, Crowley could only barely feel Castiel's lips moving with the lyrics. Then nothing. Nothing but the faint breath on his neck that let the older boy know that he hadn't died. Just sleeping.

" _We'll choke on our vomit, and that will be the end,"_ Crowley pulled Castiel a little bit tighter to his chest. _"We're fated to pretend."_

* * *

It wasn't rare for Castiel to time warp. Meaning, he was high so often he certainly had times where he blacked out and awoke in a strange place with no memory of a few hours. He remembered waking up naked next to Crowley and taking a Xanax before thinking _fuck it_ and starting in on the Oxy.

He woke up and he was fucking driving. Crowley was sleeping against the passenger's window and Castiel held the wheel steady at 65, staying conscious for ten minutes to discover that they were in Jonesboro, Arkansas with all of Missouri still ahead of them. Though, to be fair, most of the trip was behind them, even if Castiel didn't remember it. It was getting dark and Crowley was the better driver, so Castiel shook him awake.

As Castiel settled back into the passenger's seat, he thought about how thankful he was that there wasn't any blood and guts on the grill of the car when he checked at the gas station. Crowley had insisted he'd been sleeping for hours and Castiel should have woken him sooner.

He woke up again and John Winchester had an arm slung under his shoulder, halfway between the sidewalk and the porch. Crowley had already driven off. Embarrassed, Castiel took more of his own weight and tried to grab his bag. John let him walk on his own, but kept the bag.

"Couldn't wake you up," he whispered as he pushed open the door for his sons' friend. "You sleep like the dead, boy."

Castiel removed his shoes.

"You look like you got some sun down there. Hope you had fun on vacation, but we've missed you. Boys are asleep, but I'm sure Dean won't mind if you wake him," and somehow, the words mean more than what he just said. Castiel smiled and nodded, reaching out his hand to take the bag from John. This time, the older man let him take it.

"Why aren't you asleep, Mr. Winchester?"

John had long since given up correcting the polite boy to use his first name – a trait that his older brother didn't share, thank god – so John just shrugged, "Don't sleep much anymore. Trading caffeine for alcohol'll do it for you."

"I wish I were as strong as you," Castiel blurted out, still high from whatever he'd taken in the bathroom in Clinton, Missouri. He wasn't even sure what it was. "To give up something that you love – that brings you so much joy. And for what?"

"For something better, son," John patted Castiel's shoulder. "You never stop being an addict, but you can shift that addiction to something healthier. A _love_ that's healthier. I wish I'd seen it before. I wasted too much time with my boys mourning everything else I'd lost and so I almost lost them. It's still hard, every minute is a struggle, but it's worth it."

Castiel came to again pulling the covers on Dean's bed back. The junkie turned prostitute had showered since last night, but he was still sore to high hell and hoped Dean wouldn't want to consummate his homecoming. Luckily, Dean's eyes slid open just long enough to see who it was. A smile spread onto his face, and he pulled Castiel to him, the smaller boy's back to his chest, his nose buried in Castiel's hair.

* * *

The first of January found Castiel in the basement touching up the white lines of the Devil's Trap he made last Fight Night. The cigarette between his lips burned, ashes mixed with the paint. They had just drawn the order of the fights, and Alistair was working on creating the spread. It didn't matter to Castiel, he was going to bed another $500 on Sam, regardless who he was fighting against, regardless of the vigorish.

Crowley was talking his ear off again from just outside the trap. He was going to put money on Lily in her fight against Andy, because he really figured Andy wouldn't fight her seriously. The odds spoke differently, and Crowley was expecting to make a buttload. He was betting a smaller amount on Ansen over Scott. Jake took Scott out much more easily than Sam took Ansen out last round even though Sam was a lot smaller. Crowley liked the younger Winchester. Certainly more than his elder brother.

And like Castiel, Crowley was betting on Sam against Max.

The odds started out with Max having an advantage over Sam, but when the boys stripped of their shirts and shoes, a last minute change was made. Over the past month, Sam had put on at least fifteen pounds of muscle. He was still short – a bit shorter than Max – but the added mass spoke volumes to his training.

When Castiel stood from the Devil's Trap and walked outside the ring to stand next to Crowley and the puppy squirming in his arms, he sort of wondered if Sam was somehow taking the weight off of him and injecting it in himself. While Sam grew, Castiel shrunk. It seemed like witchcraft.

Or, you know, a heroin addiction opposed to a psychotic trainer.

The puppy squirmed in Crowley's arms, biting at his owner to let him down. Instead, the British boy passed the puppy to Castiel. He stilled there, making happy puppy sounds.

"You need to give him affection sometimes," Castiel said, nails scratching at the puppy's stomach. "Isn't that right, Growley?"

"His name is Aziraphale," Crowley snapped, for at least the hundredth time.

Castiel sat the puppy down. He ran at Lucifer and Sam who were exchanging words in the corner. Sam looked displeased at what the leader was telling him, but the second he felt Aziraphale's nose on his foot, his mood brightened and he knelt down to pet the dog. Lucifer shot a look at Crowley that showed just how much he enjoyed being interrupted, before he sat down and joined Sam.

"Since _Good Omens_ is your Bible, did you ever stop to think that maybe it's bad luck to name your dog after Crowley's best friend slash potential lifemate? What happens when your nerdy angel comes along? I think there's only room for one Aziraphale in Crowley's life."

Crowley put his hands in his pockets – a trick he had picked up since their Deal started and touching in public had been banned – but gave Castiel a none-too-subtle grin.

"I've found my nerdy angel, already. And his name isn't Aziraphale."

Castiel sighed and left Crowley standing there to place his bet with Alistair.

The fights kind of went the same way they went last time. Castiel tried to pay attention, he really did, but instead he sat at the wall with his back against the final resting place of a priest, abandoning Words With Friends for _Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader_ , only passing the phone back to Crowley if he had a text message. For seeming to be so private, Crowley really didn't seem to care that Castiel saw his incoming text messages from his cousins or occasionally his mom.

Crowley did make a butt-ton of money on Lily and Andy's fight. Once she beat him bloody, he asked her if she'd like to have dinner sometime. But he was wrong about Scott. Ansen seemed pretty pissed about it. He grabbed his shit and his twin brother and they left, doomed to fight against each other in the next match since both had lost twice.

Castiel, to be completely honest, wasn't sure if Sam had it in him to beat Max. He had the physical edge, that was for sure, because Max was the only fighter who was covered in bruises.

Meaning, he didn't have bruises left over from the last fight; he had fought since then. Everyone knew Max's dad was a real asshole and Castiel didn't know if Sam could beat a kid for money who regularly got beaten by his dad.

In a display of insane character, Sam tried talking to him. When Max would swing, Sam could easily dodge it – he was far more practiced than he had been last time – and he got Max into a position where he could whisper in his ear without hurting him too bad. In the end, Sam didn't need to hurt Max to get him to tap out. He pinned him to the ground without a single punch, using the move to kick out Max's knee (the one that Castiel used on Jake that time in the Church – the one that Michael used on Lucifer far before that), and pinned him to the ground.

His hand pinned behind his back with Sam just putting enough pressure to hurt, Max tapped and Sam won.

Sam walked away with a sore rib – Max did get one punch in – and four hundred dollars. The spread was so much smaller that Castiel bet the same amount but only walked away with seven hundred instead of nine, but it was a bit of free money, so he couldn't complain.

Right before the boys left to go to the Winchester's house, Sam ran back to Lucifer, Crowley, and Aziraphale. He petted the dog, but whispered to Lucifer. Crowley's face lit up in amusement as Lucifer's turned deathly seriously and nodded.

Jake's fight was next, and the boy grabbed Sam's arm before he and Castiel could escape. "Good fight," he said. "I'll see you in the next round."

And for the first time, Sam noticed the small black band on Jake's wrist. Michael's band.

This time, Sam didn't walk away shaken and so full of adrenalin he threw up in the gutter. Instead, Sam and Castiel calmly walked to the store, bought steaks to cook for dinner, and had everything ready for Dean when he got home from work. Lucifer showed up in the time it took Dean to change, looking exhausted even though he wasn't the one fighting.

"What's the occasion?" Dean asked as he hovered between his father and boyfriend at the table, giving Castiel's shoulder a small squeeze of recognition before he sat down.

"Nothing," Sam said. "Just made a bit of money and had to share the wealth. Shall we say grace?"

Lucifer nodded, reaching out to take Sam and Castiel's hands before bowing his head.

* * *

The next day, Dean found out. Probably in the nick of time, too. Because Castiel had tried to throw himself off the roof.

Okay, that might need a little explaining.

After the Florida trip, half of Castiel's debt to Crowley was paid off. The younger boy was determined to pay the rest and get on with his life. It was strange. Half of him wanted to get it over with. On the other hand, he loved every day that ticked by when Crowley didn't text him, knowing for that day he belonged to only Dean.

Tuesday, January 2nd was a day Castiel assumed would be one of the latter days. The club had opened, and Crowley had been busy. They sort of realized that they didn't have any real employees, so Crowley was playing bartender. Plus, it hadn't even been a week since their last payment and the older boy liked to stretch these things out.

Dean was taking a break from the Vonnegut to read a book for English class. It was _Beloved_ by Toni Morrison, which Dean instantly claimed to hate but the more he got into and the more supernatural it seemed to get, the longer he'd read it. Castiel lying on his back, laptop he gave the brothers for Christmas on his stomach, typing away. He was writing up their latest lab report for Chemistry.

Well, that's what he _had_ been doing, until Dean shifted. Then a weight appeared on Castiel's lap and the younger boy flinched, looking up at his boyfriend. The laptop was removed from his stomach, abandoned on the side table along with _Beloved_.

"Doesn't it seem like it's been forever?" Dean asks, palm pushing down and Castiel's eyes slid closed.

"Wasn't it just the day before yesterday? I'm pretty sure – ah."

"That's too long, Cas."

Dean leaned over to kiss him when the phone started vibrating in Castiel's pocket. Dean frowned, but his reaction was nothing compared to his boyfriend's. Tears spring instantly to his eyes, like he knew whoever messaged him was bringing the worse news ever and he whispered, "No, not now," as he sat up and dragged the phone out.

If it were possible for Castiel to look _more_ like a kicked puppy, he did when he read the message.

 **Crowley:** Doggy want the kitty ;)

Castiel looked up at Dean, begging him silently. The smile the older boy gave broke Castiel's heart. The wink stomped on the pieces. "Rain check, Cas. No problem. Sooner you pay off Crowley, sooner you never have to leave my side again, right?" Dean ran his hand over Castiel's arm. "How much do you still owe him?"

"Five hundred. After tonight only four." Castiel stood and Dean reached for _Beloved._ "I will be back tonight, Dean."

Dean just winked again and said, "I'll be waiting."

The candle was burning when he got to Crowley's. There were lines of cocaine on the bar. Castiel was grateful, and he initialed next to his name, paying off some more of his debt, aware that the two of them are consuming at least a hundred dollars in drugs before the act even started. More than he's even paying off. It made Castiel sick. Until the drugs hit him. Then it didn't.

When Castiel returned to the Winchester home a few hours later, he was like a zombie. Dean figured he had taken his medication at Crowley's, because he was _out of it_. Completely silent. Unmoving. He clenched his knees to his chest and rocked on Dean's bed, until the older boy convinced him to lie down and go to sleep.

Dean awoke a few hours later in an empty bed; his bedroom window was open. It was _never_ open. The older boy scrambled to his knees and looked out. Castiel only wearing a pair of pajama pants. It was chilly out – it was _January_ after all – but the younger boy wasn't shivering. He had his arms in a "V" over his head, chin tilted up like he was praying.

"What the hell are you doing, Cas?" Dean hissed.

The younger boy lowered his hands and turned, features hidden in the shadows. "I can fly, Dean." Dean was scrambling out the window faster than a bat out of hell at that, but Castiel just smiled, turning to face the end of the roof. "The angels tell me I'm one of them. They say I can fly."

"What are you fucking _on_ , Cas?" Dean took a step toward his boyfriend, but the boy took a shaky step away, closer to the edge.

"Castiel?" Dean tried again, voice stern with the full name. It seemed to work because the younger boy stilled, turning to face Dean once again, a giant, crazy smile on his face.

"Yes. Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord, Dean. The angel of Thursday. God is my Cover," He reached his hand up again, smiling at the sky. Dean started walking to the edge roof, away from Castiel, until he could look over the side and see the hard ground below. He started making his way toward the smaller boy, trying to get between him and the one story jump that may or may not be fatal when he realized he couldn't fly and crashed to the earth.

"I can fly, Dean," he repeated.

"Yeah, okay, Cas. I'm tired, though. Let's go to bed and you can show me tomorrow." Dean was almost between them when he caught sight of Sam leaning out of Dean's bedroom window. The older Winchester shot him a look, and Sam stayed silent.

But Castiel saw him looking and turned to face Sam.

"Oh good. Samuel. You should witness this as well." Without any other pomp and circumstance, Castiel started running at the ledge. Sam screamed for him to stop, but Dean caught his arm, spinning him around once until he could get both hands on his boyfriend. Castiel started screaming as if he were in pain, but Dean held on and dragged him to the window. Between Dean pushing and Sam pulling, they got the thrashing boy back into the house. Dean locked the window when he got inside.

The fight wore out almost the second Castiel was dropped on the floor, like once he couldn't see the ledge, he forgot it ever existed. His hands were digging in his hair and rocking back and forth. Five minutes passed before he snapped out of that. He just stood up, curled around Dean on the bed, and fell asleep.

Dean was white, his freckles standing out against the loss of color, and his fingers ran through Castiel's hair in a way a cat might find comforting. He was staring, his eyes locked on to the Zep poster on his wall, trying his best not to freak out.

But Sam knew his tells. He knew this was the last piece in the puzzle he'd been filling out for months. And he knew this was the big piece, the one Dean couldn't ignore, when he'd been the one closing his eyes and looking away when all the other clues had fallen into his lap.

"Dean… There's something I've been meaning to tell you about Cas."

* * *

The next morning, Castiel was woken up by the sound of the clock in the hall striking nine. He rolled over to shake Crowley awake, to tell him they were late for school again, but instead he found Dean. His boyfriend was sitting with his back against the wall just under the window, his arms crossed over his knees, his head resting over his arms.

The second he saw Castiel was awake, something stirred inside him and suddenly he was enraged.

"What the fuck did you take at Crowley's last night?" That didn't sound good. Castiel sat up, but didn't answer. "Do you even remember last night? You told me you could fly, Cas. You tried to jump off the roof. So don't fucking tell me that accidently took too much Adderall or Xanax. No more lies or half truths or whatever. What are you taking?"

"A lot of stuff," Castiel admitted, because he couldn't say nothing, but he didn't want this to end. He has pushed the boundaries for too long and he knew… he always knew it was going to end. People don't look past this type of character flaw. Especially when a junkie didn't want to get clean in the first place.

"Castiel."

"I don't need anything." Castiel grabbed Dean's copy of _Beloved_ , holding the pink book in his hands for something to focus on. "My dad left and they made us all talk to a shrink. I wasn't the only one they put on antidepressants, but I was silent. My other brothers told him that they were worried about me. He prescribed me Xanax for anxiety I didn't really have. The buzz was good, so I kept taking them. People can get messed up on Xanax, but I wasn't bad. One day, I forgot my pills at home and I was shaking so bad that I couldn't focus. I ran to the bathroom to throw up. Withdrawal, Dean. My body was physically addicted to it. It made me sick to not have it. After I puked, I noticed Crowley was in there. Five bucks for a joint. He taught me how to smoke it."

"I thought Lucifer taught you how to smoke." Dean's voice was empty of the rage, but still filled with judgment.

"So does he," Castiel admitted, turning the book over in his hands. When Dean didn't comment, Castiel stood and walked to his backpack. He pulled the diabetic bag from inside and sat back on the bed. "Crowley and I smoked a few times before last summer started. Over the break he got me some morphine," Castiel held up the bottle that said _Insulin_. "I only did it twice that summer. It's really expensive and I didn't want to waste it. I started trying out some other pills."

Castiel ran his finger over the circle scar on his collar bone, the one Dean had asked him about months ago when he first saw it, but Castiel never answered. "Pain medicine isn't my thing. I get… I carved this into myself on Vicodin. Percocet makes me puke. I got myself a prescription for Adderall because why not? Ecstasy is good, too, but you know that." Castiel hung his head again. "I gave you both the night of the party."

This time, Castiel didn't wait for Dean to cut in. He didn't want to hear what he had to say. Instead, he pushed a candy wrapper at Dean. "This is heroin. I started using it before we started... before us. But I use it all the time now. Daily. Sometimes more. I can't help it. Even now I'm shaking for the stuff. I know I'm going to be sick, soon, Dean. If I don't take more."

His hands danced back to his lap, but the tremors were apparent. "And cocaine," he added. "You asked what I was on last night. It was heroin and cocaine."

"So… so you're always…" Dean started, his voice small and broken. His thumbs padded at the powder in the balloon in his hand.

"I am always high, Dean. Since before we met. The only times I haven't been are times I've been sick. The day after Halloween, for example. I got better when you gave me a shot of morphine."

"You don't have diabetes?"

"No."

"Fuck," Dean whispered, balling his hands into a fist around the heroin. "Fuck."

Castiel thought about telling Dean that he was sorry that he hadn't told him before, but he wasn't, so he didn't. He just sat there, hands in his lap, looking down.

The addict had wondered how Dean would react when he inevitably found out. The scenarios didn't usually end with them as a couple. Sometimes Dean would break up with him on the spot. Others, he demanded Castiel quit and when he couldn't, he'd kick him to the curb. If Dean didn't care and let him take them, Castiel knew he'd end up dying sooner rather than later – there was no such thing as an old heroin addict, anyway – and he figured Dean wouldn't waste his time. He'd find a girlfriend and settle down and forget all about the junkie he used to date.

"Cas," Dean whispered, and the younger boy looked up. His boyfriend looked tired and old – not at all like eighteen – and he reached his hand out, fingers brushing over Castiel's knee. "I can't lose you, Cas. I've gotten used to your help and… and I don't think I could survive without you. I don't think Sammy could either. We need you, and you need us. We'll help you with this."

Dean sighed, putting the balloon of heroin into the diabetic bag. He put the bottles of Xanax and Adderall in there, too. He zipped it up and held it in his hand. "You gotta try to stop it, man. If not for you, then do it for us. Do it for me. I can't… I can't lose you, Cas."

Castiel frowned. He didn't want to give up the drugs. He wanted them. He wanted them now. His hands were shaking, and he felt his stomach turning with need. He wanted to rip the drugs from Dean's hand and run to Crowley – the other boy would never ask this of him – and hide there until he died.

Instead, he felt himself nodding, fingers clenching in the hem of Dean's shirt. Look at everything he had already done for the Winchesters. He started selling drugs to feed them, he sold his body to another man to get their father out of jail, so what was left? He may as well give them one of the few things that made him happy anymore.

What had Florence said? _I never wanted anything from you, except everything you had and what was left after that, too._

Anything for the Winchesters.

"Okay, Dean," Castiel whispered, tears forming in his eyes. "Okay, I will try."

Dean sighed, filled with relief, and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. Castiel shrugged him off and laid down on the bed, bringing his knees to chest. Dean didn't hear him crying, but he could see the boy's back shake with silent sobs.

* * *

John was filling in for Dean at the shop for the day, which was good. Dean wasn't sure he'd be able to explain why Castiel was passed out on the bathroom floor with a towel pulled over his shoulders like a blanket. He was sweating – he had a fever – but he was trembling because he was so cold. Castiel's back was pressed against the tub, and Dean was leaning against the sink, searching through sites on heroin withdrawal on the Macbook while Castiel had passed out.

Things did not look good.

The fever would only be bad if it got over 103 – it wasn't like he was actually sick or anything – but the tremors could really mess up his digestive system. He'd be puking for days it seemed like, but the worst were the seizures. If Castiel quit cold turkey, he was a lot more likely to have a seizure and some of them proved to be fatal, according to the internet.

But the thought of even letting the broken body have an inch made Dean feel queasy.

They'd woken up at nine this morning. Castiel threw up right after lunch at 11:30. It was three now and if it weren't for the shaking, Dean would be sure Castiel was dead.

Dean scrolled through more horror stories – methadone was a Band-Aid, another drug to take away the itch, but without it, getting clean seemed impossible. 70% of heroin addicts relapse in the first 6 months of trying to get clean and that was with actual doctors and actual treatment. Without the doctors, willpower gave out within hours. Not days, not weeks. Hours. Castiel needed to be committed someplace equipped with dealing with the drugs. He needed councilors. Dean wouldn't be able to help.

He hadn't been aware that Castiel was humming until the younger boy pushed himself up from his laying position and began rocking back and forth in time with the song. Dean recognized the tune as one Castiel and Sam listened to when they made dinner. One of Lucifer's favorite bands.

Castiel's fingers threaded through his hair, and Dean tried to make out the words of the song when the younger boy started mumbling them. _"You hit me just like heroin. I feel you coursing through my veins. I once tried to kick this addiction. I swear I'll never kick again."_

Dean looked up the song on the MacBook when Castiel stopped singing in favor of dry heaving over the toilet. He frowned at the words and shut the laptop down, crawling closer to the toilet to rub his hands over Castiel's back.

The younger boy put his head against the bath tub and started sobbing. His arms came up to shield his face, trying to hide from his boyfriend. Dean dropped his hand from Castiel's back to his thigh. The muscles were spasming beneath the skin.

"Want a hot bath?" Dean's voice was small, but he cleared his throat, trying to sound braver. Trying to sound like it didn't kill him to see Castiel in such pain. "I read online that a hot bath can help reduce the tension in your legs."

"I want to die," Castiel whined, turning his head to face Dean. "Everything hurts, Dean. I can't do this." The younger boy looked like he just ran a hundred miles. His breath made his back rise and fall like he was gasping for air. "You can't stay with me every minute of every day, and the second I have a second alone, I'll slip. Dean, I'm sorry. I'm trying, but everything _hurts_ and I want to be dead."

"Online they say the physical addiction lasts for a week. Then things stop hurting so much, but they say the psychological addiction doesn't really ever go away. People relapse all the time. You just… we need to try, okay?" Dean sighed when Castiel nodded, then rested his head in his arms.

"My brain is just trying regain homeostasis," Castiel said, trying to rationalize. "The drugs release chemicals so my brain doesn't make them natural. My body is just trying to right this wrong. Usually if I skip a day of heroin, I at least have Xanax though. This is very unpleasant."

Two hours later, it was less about homeostasis and more about crying and screaming. The younger boy's shirt had been completely drenched in sweat. His nose was running and tears poured from his eyes trying to find the balance. Dean helped him out of his shirt, but the sweat started soaking into the sheets of Dean's bed, where he'd moved him once the vomiting subsided.

Castiel's fingers alternated between gripping the sheets and the front of Dean's shirt, but the detox was taking a painful toll on the younger boy's body. His face was set in a grimace, but he was trying – Dean could tell he was really fucking trying – not to ask for the drugs, not to beg like last time.

For a second or two, he started looking better. Then, the younger boy started thrashing, almost entirely uncontrollable. Dean tried to hold him down, he was scratching at himself and screaming, but it was more than a one man job. He needed Sam's help. Dean started begging, pinning Castiel's hands to the mattress above his head, looking up at heaven and _begging_ God to make it stop.

He thought it worked for a moment, when Castiel went completely still. Dean looked up in time to see Castiel's eyes rolling back in his head, eyelids fluttering to stay open.

Dean stopped holding the younger boy down to shake his shoulders, "Cas?"

The tremors started again, and Dean was freaking out. He'd never seen a seizure before, but this had to be one, right? This was going to kill him. Dean climbed off the bed and dug the diabetic kit out from under the bed. His hands were shaking, and he dumped the contents over the floor on accident. He found the needle and the morphine. He measured out a little bit – less than eighth of a vial – and climbed back on the bed. Castiel's shoulders were still shaking, but his eyes were open again, looking through Dean at a spot on the wall.

"Cas," Dean said, holding up the needle to show him. "You can't quit like this or you'll die. Baby steps, okay? We'll wean you off of it."

Castiel's eyes were sunken into his skull, and his eyes fluttered, trying to focus on the image before him. Dean doubted he heard the words, but he couldn't just leave him here like this. He tied the tourniquet around his boyfriend's arm and pulled him so he was sitting up. Dean shifted so he was sitting behind the boy, keeping him upright with his back on his chest. He reached forward and put the needle in Castiel's right hand.

A small squeak came from Castiel's throat, like he meant to say something but couldn't manage. "Take it, Cas," Dean whispered. "It's okay."

The needle was pushing into the younger boy's vein before the words really fell from Dean's mouth. Castiel was right – he was weak – the second he was presented with the opportunity, he took the drug without a second thought. But the sigh he gave sounded so gratifying. Castiel slumped back into Dean's chest, arm falling to the side. The older boy reached around, careful to take the needle out of his arm and sat it on the stand. Castiel's breathing grew deeper, and he sank boneless into Dean.

The older boy pushed his nose into Castiel's hair, fingers brushing the sweat-soaked bangs off of his boyfriend's forehead. He was sure Castiel was sleeping, but Dean was stretched too thin, his nerves too tightly wound to sleep even though he was exhausted. Instead, he breathed.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean whispered, but when the younger boy didn't answer, Dean went on. "Remember Mrs. DuBose from _To Kill A Mockingbird_? That mean lady that shouted at Scout and Jem from her porch? Remember when Jem ruined her flowers so the kids had to read to her. Every day, they set the timer back farther and father, and every day she lasted a little longer through her morphine addiction. Then she died clean, Cas." The older boy's fingers brushed against his boyfriend's arm. "We'll do that for you. We'll get you clean."

Castiel sighed, and Dean was surprised when he felt the younger boy's sweaty palm rest over Dean's. The older boy turned his palm over, and held Castiel's hand as he slept.

* * *

Michael didn't realize he was hungry until he was starving. He had been reading in bed when suddenly his head started swimming, his stomach gave an almighty lurch, and Michael thought he would pass out. He'd been reading Luke (he was _always_ reading Luke anymore), going back and forth between 10:25 and 15:11 like it was his job.

The younger set of twins never had posters on their wall, not like Raphael and Uriel did, but they made due. Michael's side had framed prints of old paintings of the Archangel he was named for, looking righteous and strong with his younger brother under his foot.

Lucifer had painted quotes on his side. ' _Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself'_ stretched across the length of Lucifer's bed as a reminder to try to be better. Jesus had told the same to an "expert" who had questioned him on what the most important commandment was.

When Lucifer was painting the words on the wall, he had been thirteen – fresh from his first fist fight – and he was grinning at Michael with pride like he had learned something. "It's funny," Lucifer had said, "Because by Jesus saying that, he covered the spirit of all ten commandments. Kind of saying they're all important."

Michael had tossed the baseball over his head, catching it easily as it fell to the earth. "Tell me about the good Samaritan again, Luke."

Lucifer jumped from the bed, setting the brush down on top of the can. He wiped his hand on his pants, grinning as he jumped up to sit next to his brother. "This guy got robbed and the robbers stripped him naked and beat him and left him for dead. A bunch of Jewish priests went by and were like, 'sorry, bro, we can't help you because we're priests and if we touch you, and you die, then we'll become unclean and we have sermons to give, so we can't help you.' So they all just left."

Pale blue meet hazel – nothing about them screamed that they were brothers, let alone twins. Lucifer had always been light – light hair, light eyes – and Michael always had something inside him that was dark. Something he chased away with scripture and deep breathing. But even if they didn't look like twins – didn't much act like twins – there was something remarkable looking into the face of someone who was formed at almost the same instant as you, someone you've never been apart from, not really.

Lucifer took the ball from Michael's hands, rolling it around as he searched for the right words to continue his story.

"Then a Samaritan came by. Samaritans were people who were looked down on as… um… like, spiritual and ethnical half-breeds. Like, the priests were high up on the ladder but the Samaritans were much lower. And so a Samaritan guy comes up to the half-dead guy and bandaged his wounds and takes care of him. So when Jesus tells this parable, he means that it doesn't matter if we're high up like priests, we still have to do the right thing and help everyone. We need to be good people like the Samaritan man was."

Michael fought through the growl in his stomach to flip back 15:11.

He tried fighting away the blasphemous words that formed in his head, cursing Luke and this story. Jesus said if a man looked at a woman with lust in his heart, he has already committed adultery. Certainly, blasphemy worked the same way. He fought through the pains in his stomach and read.

_There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, 'Father, give me my share of the estate.' So he divided his property between them. Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living._

The knocking on his window startled Michael. He could remember nights when Lucifer would sneak back when their mother was still alive, fresh from a night of decadence so vile, Michael could smell the sin on him. His brother would knock on the window, asking permission to be allowed in the house and Michael would always open it.

When he finally got the window open and looked out, he noticed it wasn't his brother outside his room. Why would he be there, after all? Michael hadn't spoken to him in three and a half months. Instead, Adam Milligan grinned up at him and held up a plastic grocery bag to him. Michael took the bag and stepped back into his room, looking inside. Soda. Chips. Enough candy bars to seduce Gabriel and probably get him to agree to marriage.

By the time Michael could think of something to say, Adam was climbing in the window and sitting down on Lucifer's bed. He looked easy there, bouncing slightly, looking over the room like he had never been in there before. Certainly never from that angle. It took him a few minutes, but it started sinking in. He was sitting on Lucifer's bed, on Lucifer's side of the room, where he'd never sat before. Where Michael had never told him _not_ to sit, but certainly never gave him permission to sit either.

Adam stood, "I figured we hang out all the time, but never as friends… and… I just thought we could hang out tonight."

Michael knew better. Adam's mom worked nights a lot and he never knew his father. The boy hated being alone – he started going to church because it gave him some sense of family and belongingness. Michael looked back into the bag. He didn't drink soda. He didn't eat chips. He certainly never ate candy. He held the bag out to Adam, who took it, and frowned.

"Michael… I…"

"Pick me out something," Michael said. "I'm not sure what I like." The smile on Adam's face made him look even younger. Like Michael was babysitting Gabriel and not hanging out with his friend. "And you can sit there, if you want."

The smile faded and was replaced by a serious nod – like he knew how much this must mean to Michael – and he held out a bag of Fritos and a bottle of coke. Start with the simple things. Michael took them, sitting on his own bed and popping a few Fritos into his mouth. Salty. Adam laughed at the face he made.

"It gets better," the younger boy promised, before nodding at the book on Michael's pillow. "What parable is on for tonight?"

Michael closed the Bible as if he'd been caught doing something wrong, wondering for a second how Adam knew it was a Bible first and how he was reading the New Testament second. Then he realized the last time he'd read a book other than the Bible had been for English class and the dogged paperbacks looked nothing like Michael's leather bound Bible. He was flipped to the end. Adam was nothing if not perceptive; though, he didn't appear to be the way he lounged on Lucifer's bed, shoving Doritos into his mouth and washing it down with a soda so green it looked dangerous to consume.

Michael thought about reminding Adam that his body was a temple and he shouldn't fill it with such unnatural filth, but his own Coke was pretty good, so he refrained from judgment. Instead, he answered the question, "The prodigal son."

Adam smiled again, a carefree thing that made Michael want to smile too. "Luke," Adam commented, and Michael's smile fell. How could people say that name and not respond the way he did? As far as he was concerned, those four letters built a combination of sounds that meant pain and love and agony and joy. "You're always reading Luke. He must be your favorite."

"I have no favorites," Michael insisted, a little too quickly. Adam dug in the bag for a candy bar – a Kit-Kat the package said – and broke it in half, giving two bars to his friend. Michael tried the candy, but found it to be too sweet with the soda on his tongue. He ate some chips to wash his palate and tried again. It was much better this time. "Do you know the story?"

"Of course I know it," Adam said, sitting the food on Lucifer's nightstand and laying down on the boy's bed. The pillows had been unused for months – the blankets were made the same as Michael had fixed after his brother left with a broken arm. A broken arm that went untreated all night as he sat on that bed and groaned in pain.

Michael put the food on his stand as well. He shut off his lamp, and the only light in the room spilled in from the closet. The louvered, bi-fold door let rays escape and had been a welcome nightlight to the young twins – a nightlight that Michael picked up again when he found himself alone the night his brother left in pain. In the dim light, he saw Adam shift to look over at him, could see the outlines of his face.

He looked amused when he said, "I should've known you were a 'lights-out at ten on a Friday' kind of guy."

"Tell me the story, Adam. Please?" The older boy bunched his blankets together and held them to his chest. Comfort without the teddy bear. He saw Adam nod and then slipped his eyes closed.

"This rich guy had two sons. And the younger son asked his dad to give him his share of the money. He did, and the son left and blew all the money. A famine hit the city, and the son started working in crap conditions and he was starving."

Adam sounded nothing like Lucifer, Michael thought. But he had the same charisma. Easy, putting the story into his own words. It was beautiful. And refreshing.

"So the son thinks, 'I should just go home and apologize to my dad.' And so he does. When he gets there he says, 'I'm not worthy to be your son,' but the dad just hugs him and gives him fancy clothes and rings and says, 'This son of mine was dead and is alive again. He was lost and now is found,' and they celebrated. The older brother hears it and he gets pissed. He says, 'but I was with you all along, so why does he get this now that he comes back.' And the father says that they need to celebrate because this brother is found."

Neither boy said anything for a few minutes, but Michael heard the sound of the soda top unscrewing and the carbon dioxide hissing its escape. He heard Adam drink, then screw the top on. He heard him clear his throat before he asked, "Would you forgive him if he came back?"

The older boy wasn't sure if he meant Lucifer or his father, so he gave the political answer of, "The Bible tells us yes."

"But would _you_ , Mikey? Would you forgive him?"

Michael rolled over and faces the wall. "I don't know, Adam. I really don't know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs: 
> 
> Thanksgiving songs: “Paradise” by Coldplay, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” by the Charlie Daniels Band, “Carry On My Wayward Son” by Kansas and they sing “Seasons of Love” from Rent. 
> 
> The song Sam sings on Lucifer’s phone is “Halo” by Beyonce.
> 
> The song Castiel was dancing/signing to in the club was “3” by Britney Spears.
> 
> Castiel wants Crowley to say the words to “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails when they’re in the hotel after the club.
> 
> The song Castiel and Crowley sing after sex is “Time to Pretend” by MGMT, which is seriously their theme song in my mind.
> 
> The Florence + the Machine song Castiel was referencing is “Dog Days Are Over.”
> 
> Castiel is saying the words to “This Addiction” by Alkaline Trio when he’s on the bathroom floor going through withdrawal.


	9. Feel the Heartbeat

 

**Chapter 9: Feel the Heartbeat in My Mind**

**Part I: Heartbeat**

The plan was for Castiel to be weaned off of heroin by Sunday by giving him two smaller doses: one on Friday and one on Saturday. Monday would be the first day he'd be drug free. The physical addiction would be the worst on day three, but should subside within a week. Then it was a mental game.

Dean wasn't so sure about the chances of recovery, to be completely honest.

It was Sunday, and Dean was balancing the MacBook on his lap, trying really hard to trust Castiel and Lucifer, but the two of them had a weakness for each other. Castiel didn't make his brother go to the hospital when he tried to kill himself, and if push came to shove, Dean was pretty sure Lucifer would give in and give Castiel some heroin to stop the shakes. What he needed was tough love.

Why the fuck would Castiel choose the first day of his sobriety to spend it away? He needed to stay at the Winchester's until he was clean.

Castiel fought that like a recovering junkie who had his next fix in mind. Like he knew that Lucifer'd give in to him, so he wanted to stay there. Of course, his bullshit line was in favor of his brother's health. _I can't leave him alone all the time_ and _He'll do something to himself._ But Dean doubted Castiel. He had doubt in his heart.

But that wasn't all he had in there.

John was cleaning the dishes from dinner, Guns 'n Roses playing over Sam's iPod in the kitchen. The youngest Winchester was in his room, presumably doing homework since he had neither his iPod nor the MacBook, but Dean wasn't really focused on what his brother was getting up to.

Instead, he read through page after page of withdrawal horror stories and detox programs and felt his stomach drop with each word. A lot of the sites talked about how if a person wanted to get clean, he had to change his whole life around. Something made him turn to the drugs and something kept him coming back to them. Sometimes to get clean, people had to cut out family members or friends and often _lovers_.

It wasn't the first time he'd thought it since he found out about Castiel's addiction, about how Dean was an enabler. Castiel was a Novak, after all. And who was to say when he got clean, he'd want anything to do with Dean? He'd probably crawl up Michael's ass, quoting scripture, and die up there.

Sure, Castiel said he'd been high their entire relationship, but it had gotten worse, hadn't it? Dean could see the collapse – he could _track_ it – even though he had been trying to look away. How the slope went downhill, how he kept getting worse, until Lucifer's suicide attempt. That first week he held it together, and then he went off the reservation. He spiraled until he tried to jump off the roof.

Who's to say that even though Dean could try to justify it with Lucifer's attempt to meet his maker, that he didn't have a growing suspicion that it was him? That Dean was pushing Castiel into the drugs. That no matter what Dean did to save him, the only real way to get the boy to save himself would be to stay away?

So Dean had to choose. Did he want to keep Castiel a junkie to keep him with Dean? Or did he want to clean him up and set him free, hoping he'd see some reason to stay?

Dean never got the opportunity to make the choice. There was a pounding on his front door that sounded like demons were trying to bust in. John rushed to the living room, but his eldest son beat him to the door. Not that he needed to look and see who it was, the screaming match was evidence enough. When he opened the door, and Castiel crumpled on the floor, he knew he'd been right.

The fall silenced him, but only for a moment. Lucifer grabbed his brother's arm and tried to pick him up, but Castiel started yelling again, eyes wide with fear, screaming, "Get them off me, get them off me, get them _out_ of me," like a chant.

Lucifer hiked his brother up like he was nothing, wrapping his arms around him to keep him from clawing at his skin. Dean rushed to his aid, trying to get Castiel to look at him, to calm him down, but it wasn't much use.

"It took us an hour to walk over here," Lucifer was yelling too, just to be heard over Castiel's terrified screams. "He started shouting out to you in his sleep, so I thought… I thought if he saw you…"

Sam was taking the stairs two at a time, but froze on the last step. Castiel grew silent too, staring at the youngest Winchester. The room held its breath for a moment, afraid to shatter whatever connection to reality Castiel was trying to work with. Ten seconds pass, before Castiel was whimpering, backing away, pushing himself against his brother to put distance between himself and the teenager on the stairs.

"Where is his soul?"

"Dean," John whispered, and Dean turned to face the man. He hadn't told him what was happening with Castiel. He expected his father to demand answers, but instead, John said, "Do you have anything in your room that he might get to?"

It took Dean a few seconds to realize John meant drugs. Dean wondered if it was like how Castiel could point out other junkies because he was one. Or maybe his father had always known. Dean nodded.

"Go get it – all of it, Dean, it's important you get all of it – and bring it to me. We can keep him calm until you get back. Sam, grab your iPod and the docking station. Put it on something he likes. Lucifer, can you get him to sit on the couch?"

With their orders distributed, each boy dutifully started their appointed task. John followed Sam into the kitchen, grabbed a mug and filled it with water, popping it in the microwave for a minute and thirty seconds.

He could hear Sam and Lucifer bickering about what music to put on in the living room as he added the tea bag to the water, and found them almost up-in-arms about it when he entered the room. ("He likes Kings of Leon." "He likes to _drink_ to it, Sam! That's not going to keep him sober." "What, you want me to put on This Addiction by Alkaline Trio?" "Yes!" "Yeah like _that's_ a good idea. Doesn't that song _lament_ being clean?")

Castiel was sitting on the couch next to his brother, knees drawn to his chest and head down on his knees. He didn't look up when John approached him, but he did when John tapped his leg and held the tea down to him.

"It's ginger. It'll help with your stomach."

Castiel took it, but balanced the cup on his knee with his fingers around it, sucking in the warmth. He didn't take a sip. John started walking toward the stairs, meeting Dean on his way down. His eldest son pushed Castiel's diabetic kit into his hands. The middle-aged man didn't open it to see what the kid's vice was. Dean wondered if he even needed to. Instead, John leaned in to whisper to his son, "Stay with him until he drinks his tea, and then bring him up to bed. I'll hide these so he can't get to them. We'll get rid of them as soon as we can."

Dean nodded and started walking away. John grabbed his shoulder, keeping him from moving and said, "Son, that boy in there needs you. Things are gonna get ugly, but you have to stay strong for him. You're the only reason that boy's even trying and he's walking through hell for you, so you have to meet him half way. You understand?"

"Yes, sir," Dean whispered, eyes falling briefly to his father's chest, before taking a breath and meeting his eye again. "Then, you know?"

"Me and you will have our day, Dean, to sit down and talk everything out. But today, you gotta help Cas," John let his hand drop from Dean's shoulder. He gave away a small smile, then turned his back on his son, and walked upstairs to hide the bag. "And I'm proud of you for that."

Dean walked back into the living room to see Lucifer on his back on the floor, one arm bent at the elbow and pushing up at Sam's chest, keeping the boy off of him. Sam was straddling the older boy's stomach, growling as he stretched across Lucifer, trying to dive at the iPod in the older boy's other hand, stretched just out of his reach.

"I bought the damn thing," Lucifer was shouting, though the way his arm was shaking in effort, Sam's force and weight combined with the gravity made it seem like he wouldn't be able to fend the smaller boy off for long. "And besides he's my _brother_. I think I know what music he likes."

"If you could control him, you wouldn't have dragged him here," Sam rocked back and gave an almighty lunge. Lucifer grunted with effort to keep him away, his arm giving slightly before pushing Sam away again. "So give me back my iPod. There are names for people who take back what they give someone as a gift, you know!"

Dean looked at Castiel. His knees were still to his chest, but he was sipping at the tea, eyebrows down like he was confused. The older Winchester leaned down and grabbed the iPod from Lucifer's hand. Lucifer looked up at him, and when he made a grab for it (with both hands), Sam came crashing down on top of him.

Dean switched it to a song, put the iPod into the dock, and sat next to Castiel on the couch before Lucifer and Sam stopped groaning in pain and found their way off each other.

" _I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord.  
But you don't really care for music, do you?"_

Castiel sighed a breath that he seemed to have been holding before leaning back and into his boyfriend. Dean, in turn, wrapped his arm around Castiel's shoulder around the time Lucifer sat up, rubbing his chest. He stopped rubbing, though, when Sam sat up next to him. Then, Lucifer reached out his hand to touch Sam's jaw, turning his head as if inspecting him for injuries.

"You feeling any better, Cas?" Dean asked.

The younger boy nodded, "Your father makes great tea." Castiel paused before adding, "I don't see the demons anymore. They were trying to crawl inside me the entire way over here. I don't know if that is… standard for withdrawal but I thought we should have a full disclosure policy with this attempt at sobriety."

Dean nodded, pulling Castiel close enough to kiss the side of his head. "I appreciate full disclosure. What do demons look like?"

"At first, I thought they looked like the smoke monster from Lost, but when I got here they looked more like the demons from Constantine. You know what I mean? The ape-like things with claws?"

"It sounds like you watch too much TV," Dean said. Castiel smiled at that, taking a long sip from the tea. "What made the demons go away?"

Castiel paused a frown forming back on his face and Dean wished he could take the question back. It wasn't worth it. And as if coming up with an answer wasn't hard enough, Lucifer and Sam were watching him too. Like suddenly their fight didn't exist and they had always been paying attention to Castiel.

"My mom was an angel," Castiel swirled the teabag in his drink. "She came down from heaven and smote the demons in a blinding white light. Then she told me I needed to find our father and he would explain."

"Explain what?" Lucifer asked, crawling on his hands and knees to Castiel.

"She didn't say."

"Well, did she say anything else?" Lucifer sat next to his brother on the couch.

"Yes," Castiel finished the last of his drink. "She told me to drink the tea Mr. Winchester gave me."

It took another half an hour before Dean guided Castiel upstairs. Dean had read online that withdrawal caused the nose to run and for tears to be produced in excess. His boyfriend had been alternating dabbing his eyes and blowing his nose for the past fifteen minutes (with different tissues), so Dean thought he'd get him to bed before he started losing his grip on reality again.

Sam stayed up with Lucifer to finish watching an episode of Family Guy, before the youngest Winchester nudged Lucifer's arm, not looking at him as he said, "I'll go get some blankets."

Lucifer nodded, and Sam took the stairs two at a time. The second he was out of sight, Lucifer stood and ripped his phone from his pocket. He walked into the kitchen as he pressed the first name on his favorites. Since September, he had programmed others into his phone – Castiel, Crowley, and Sam – but this remained his first.

It rang and rang, like it always did. Lucifer wondered if that meant the phone was still active. After this long, shouldn't a lady on the other line tell him this phone number was no longer available? Nobody picked up. Nobody ever did.

But that was fine.

"Father, please forgive me. It's been a long time since I've called you, and… well… a lot of things have happened. But none of that's important right now. Dad, it's Castiel," Lucifer looked out the kitchen window, toward the stars that peeked out from behind the tree. "He was real bad a little while ago. He said he saw demons trying to claw into him. He said mom appeared before him as an angel and sent the demons back to hell."

Lucifer sighed, looking down into the sink, "And I remember it with mom some nights, okay? The things she used to say about the angels she heard? I wasn't too young, but I think Castiel was. By then, I was already… I… dad, you really need to come home, okay? We _need_ you. We're like mom and we need somebody to help us. We need our father."

Lucifer opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but instead lowered the phone. He looked at it in his hands for a moment, arms upward, revealing the faded scars from past attempts to deal with it on his own. They were faded for him now – he hadn't tried anything since that night Castiel had found him – but it was getting worse for his brother. His attempts at controlling what he saw hadn't started yet. Not like the scars that marked Lucifer's failed attempts. They needed help. They needed their father.

Instead, Lucifer pushed the end button, and shoved the phone into his pocket. He turned on the water and breathed.

And behind him – though Lucifer didn't know it – Sam Winchester climbed quietly back up the stairs. He waited until the water turned off, before stomping down them again, making his entrance obvious this time.

When Lucifer met him in the living room, blankets were thrown over both couches. Sam was already laying on the shorter one, arm up with the Wii-mote to select something on Netflix. He turned and smiled at the older boy when he approached.

"What do you want to watch?"

"You don't have to sleep down here with me," Lucifer said as he pulled the blanket back to lay down. His head was a foot from Sam's; he could reach out in the night and touch him, if he wanted.

"Nonsense. It's been years since I've had a slumber party," Sam looked over the rest to look at his friend. He gave him an upside-smile, before turning his vision back on the TV. "What do you want to watch? Something scary?"

"Isn't that mandatory for a slumber party?"

Sam grinned, selected a movie from the list and put the Wii-mote down.

* * *

The next morning when John woke up, he sort of figured his boys had had a rough night. Call it fatherly intuition or whatever, but when he peeked his head into Dean's room, like he did every morning, Castiel's t-shirt was drenched in sweat, but he was shivering, even with the blanket and Dean wrapped around him.

John shut the door as quietly as possible before he checked on Sam. He wasn't there, but the lack of blankets on his bed led John to figure he'd chance upon him soon enough.

Which he did, when he hit the landing of the stairs.

The DVD title menu of Aladdin was still playing on the TV, which meant to John that the boys had watched a scary movie the night before. Aladdin was Sam's secret weapon when he was a kid – he'd warn out the VHS tape when he was ten – but now he only fell asleep to it when it was an emergency.

The boys themselves were clues too. Neither of them were on either of the couches, but curled up on the floor facing each other with a foot's distance between them. Their blankets were too tight in the heat of the house, but each had a hand sticking out. Their hands crossed the gap to sit together – Lucifer's palm up, Sam's palm down – in which probably was a death grip before sleep eventually overcame them. Now it was just a comfort they couldn't abandon.

John tiptoed past them to push the power button on the TV and DVD player, before he walked into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.

He'd let them all sleep for a couple more minutes before he woke them up for school.

* * *

Monday, Castiel met Dean after school to tell him that he was going to quit selling drugs in the park. Dean was overjoyed, of course, until he was at work later and had time to dissect every little syllable in that sentence to find the loophole that was obviously hidden inside.

It was at six thirty when he was underneath the Impala (work was slow) that he figured it out. He was so mad, he slid out from under his Baby cursing, ignoring the look Bobby sent him from the other side of the room, and pulled out his phone and called Castiel.

His boyfriend answered, but Dean could barely hear him shout, "Hello Dean," over the sound of loud music in the background.

"Not in the park?" Dean shouted. "In the park is suddenly not good enough for you but your brother's new club is a fine place to sell?"

Castiel was silent for a long time before Dean pieced together bits of his excuse, "More people… less likely to do drugs since I'm surrounded… Lucifer needs me…" and then the most disturbing line, "Sam… your brother."

"My brother? What about my brother, Cas?" Dean shouted. Bobby was even more interested now. He shot Dean a look that the teenager interpreted as _whose knees am I gonna hafta break_ , but Castiel started yelling in his ear again.

"Sam is with me… needed bartenders so we're bartending mostly… making money…" And, of course, he always saved the best for last, "…He's watching out for me."

Dean sighed. The dubstep on the other line was giving him a headache and if Sam and Castiel were playing bartender together, it was better than both of them being on their own, right? He was already pushing Castiel enough trying to get him to stay off the drugs. Dean was afraid of how far he could push him before he'd leave.

More than anything, Dean needed Castiel to stay with him. If he was pushing on the getting clean front, he'd have to cool it on the selling alcohol and drugs side.

"You keep Sam out of trouble, Cas, you hear me? If anything happens to him… or you."

Dean heard Castiel reply with, "I know. I have to go," before the phone cut out. Dean set his own phone on the counter next to the radio. It was covered in grease now and Dean wasn't sure how to get it off the device without ruining it. The Winchester boy heard his boss opening two bottles of beer and welcomed the distraction, even if it meant talking about his problems.

"Trouble in Paradise?" The man asked, stretching out a bottle by its neck.

"You have no idea," Dean said as he took a healthy sip. There were things Dean didn't want to say to Bobby, just like there were things he didn't want to tell John. For example, he couldn't tell them that Castiel was really freaking addicted to drugs. It seemed like a major invasion of Castiel's privacy, and even if John seemed to guess anyway, Bobby was a different story.

Bobby was family to Dean and Sam, but until Dean put a ring on Castiel's finger, the two only had a handful of interactions and so Bobby wasn't Castiel's family yet.

Speaking of putting a ring on his finger, Dean really didn't want to admit it to John or Bobby that they were dating. It seemed… okay, there was no excuse at this point. He didn't want to jinx it before, but after almost four months, that beat Dean's next longest relationship by a solid three months and that took that excuse away. It was just…

Okay, Dean had no excuse and no reason, but either way he didn't want to tell them. He didn't want to put it into words and admit it to the only two men Dean respected in his life. Because saying it out loud made it real. And somehow, Dean couldn't shake the fact that if he admitted he loved another dude, it would make them think he was less of a man.

So instead, he tried a minimalist approach. "Cas' brother just opened a club downtown and apparently Cas and Sam are the bartenders."

"Bartenders? Your brother ain't even sixteen yet."

"That's what I'm saying," Dean exclaimed. "But I guess Jo's been working at the Roadhouse since she could walk."

"I guess that's true," Bobby tipped back his own beer. "What's the worse that's gonna happen to them, anyway? You can't protect your brother every step of the way. Mistakes show us what we need to learn."

Dean snorted, "Mistakes show us what we need to learn?"

"It was in my fortune cookie last night," Bobby shrugged. "What more do you need for the Impala to get her up and running?"

Dean took another swig of his beer and led Bobby back over to his Baby. At least she was safe to talk about.

* * *

Michael and Lucifer had exactly one class together their senior year.

Most of the teachers who taught seniors breathed a sigh of relief. That chilly, September morning that Lucifer Novak walked in with a cast on his left arm was a day that would live on in infamy. Rumors circled quickly from the students to the teachers, and several had confronted Michael about breaking his brother's arm (it wasn't really a kosher thing to do, after all), but the dark-haired twin never tried to deny it.

With the charisma of Ted Bundy, Michael smiled and charmed his way into convincing everyone that Lucifer deserved it. A teenager sat in the back of his classes, shunned by half of his peers with a broken arm, and the aggressor was treated like a king.

There was one teacher, however, who taught both twins at once. And while any of the others would swear up and down by Michael, she had managed to – for the most part – stay out of it. It was not because she didn't like Michael; no, he was certainly a nice boy. Charming. But it was because of the rumors surrounding the cause of the broken arm. The rumors of why Lucifer got kicked out of his house that had all but died with the lack of actual proof (read: a boyfriend).

Or maybe it was the way she saw him walking out of the abandoned church behind the school as she got there one morning. But whatever it was, she liked Lucifer.

They say teachers shouldn't play favorites, but teachers are only human (after all) and they do, certainly among twins.

When she heard the bell ring, she swore under her breath. Her 40 minute prep period was over (although she spent no time prepping and a lot of time on Tumblr or reading fanfics), so she minimized Return of the Jedi, and walked to the door to greet her students. Mostly, she was out there to make sure a fight didn't start in the hall.

The twins' younger brother was standing near his locker, waiting for the older Winchester boy. She hadn't ever had either of them in class – knew literally nothing about them – but she shipped them like crazy. They say teachers shouldn't ship their students, but teachers are only human (after all) and they do. The Novak boy was pale and sweaty, probably had whatever wiped out half of her homeroom, but his face lit up when the Winchester boy rounded the corner.

And the Winchester kid looked happy to see him too.

They didn't run down the hall and hug – nothing romantic or bitchy like that – but she could dream. Once, she had seen the Winchester boy slip his arm around the Novak's shoulders. It had been the highlight of her week.

Nothing like that today, but she did hear a plethora of questions demanding to know how the Novak boy was feeling. She was watching the pair walk up the stairs, when she heard the familiar deep voice greet her cheerfully, "Good afternoon, Ms. Bradbury."

Charlie usually liked to have more of a warning to deal with Michael, but she turned and faced him, biting the corners of her mouth and forcing the muscles to stretch apart in a pathetic excuse for an attempted smile. Michael didn't say anything about the display – he never did – he just walked into the classroom and sat down at his computer, the one at the front corner by the door. She knew she was the only teacher who wasn't drinking Michael's Kool-Aid. She knew it bothered him, but she couldn't seem to care.

The bell was about to ring, and there were few students left in the hallway. Suddenly, Lucifer rounded the corner with his thumbs latched around the straps of his backpack, whispering with the younger Winchester. Sam, she corrected herself, knowing his name because he came to her a few days ago, asking if he could take her class two years early.

Bless his geeky heart.

Sam didn't look too happy, but Lucifer was more than making up for it. They stood outside the Global History class for a moment, before Sam stormed inside the room and Lucifer started laughing. In the forty feet to get from Sam's room to his own class, Lucifer's face fell to that depressingly pensive look that Charlie had grown so accustomed to. Also the bell rang, making the boy late to class.

"Hey, Han," Charlie called out to Lucifer. The boy responded to the name by looking up and forcing a smile. She'd been calling him that since October when he wrote a memoir about how Michael wouldn't let him be Han Solo for Halloween one year, and Crowley wouldn't let him this year either. "Why the long face?"

"It's nothing, Ms. Bradbury," but he paused outside the classroom. "Sorry I'm late."

"You know, three lates equal a detention."

Lucifer frowned, "I'm late to your class three times a week and I never get detention."

"And now you know my feelings on punctuality. Now get in there, we have letters to write."

Charlie Bradbury taught a whole slew of computer-related classes, but this one happened to be typing. Most kids take it because it's an easy credit (nowadays everyone types so what do they have to learn), so she had kind of turned it a pseudo-political slash quasi-worldly class that mostly meant bullshit and she would do the fuck what she wanted. They just got done watching the first X-Men movie after she tied it into the Holocaust and they did all sorts of Webquests and letters to various Holocaust survivors.

She was still working on how she could get Harry Potter into the syllabus…

Once Lucifer took his seat, Charlie started her song and dance about writing letters to politicians. Most of the kids in the class were seniors, and if they weren't already old enough to vote, they probably would by the next election. Charlie was nothing if not politically active. Or at least, she thought _they_ should be politically active since they were the future of the world and all. No pressure.

"So, what are some topics that you care about that you could write to a presidential candidate?" Charlie bit the top off the dry erase marker, turning her back on the students to write down their answers.

Some girl said abortion – they _always_ say abortion – and she wrote it down. Drilling in ANWR seemed so four years ago, but she wrote that down too.

And then she heard it.

But she didn't believe she heard it.

She turned a little too slowly and the room was a little too quiet. All the senior teachers were glad that Michael and Lucifer only had one class together, because they were all afraid that today would be the day they had round two. Today would be the day that Lucifer paid Michael back for the broken arm, or did something else that would cause Michael to break the other one. Four months. Almost four months had gone by without a hint of anything more than a pained, regretful look or an angry glare. So why would today be any different?

Lucifer was tipping back in his chair – he was _always_ tipping back in his chair – and his arms were crossed over his chest. Despite this, he didn't look defiant. He didn't look like he was making a joke. He looked completely neutral, serious, and curious, like it was a completely normal thing to say. Which, it was. It totally was relevant. It was just unexpected… from him.

He tilted his head to the side, wavering slightly in his resolve at Charlie's reaction. She shook her head, trying to send him some message that it wasn't him. She didn't pause because of him. She wasn't judging or making assumptions.

She turned back to the board and wrote _gay marriage._

The room was still too quiet. Charlie cleared her throat, trying to get the tense moment to pass and for someone to say something else before something happened but it was too late.

"Why is everything gay with you?" Michael snapped. "Why do you insist on fighting all the good I'm trying to do here by supporting your filth in front of everybody?"

The class held its breath, but they weren't subtle at all when they ping-ponged their vision from the front corner where Michael sat, to the back corner where Lucifer took up his perch. Teenagers have a perverse fascination in other people's business and the potential for bloodshed.

"Um…" Charlie started. She'd broken up fights before. But this was different. This was family and it hit way too close to home for her to remain neutral.

Lucifer lowered the front pegs of his chair to the floor, uncrossed his arms, and leaned slightly toward Michael. "First of all, brother, I didn't say I supported it. She asked for a topic and that is a hot topic in politics right now. And second of all, get your head out of your ass. It's the twenty-first century and you need to grow up."

The students ping-ponged back to Michael.

"Go back and read Sodom and Gomorrah. It is a _sin_ , Lucifer, and time doesn't change that."

The ball was in Lucifer's court. He stood and pointed at his brother. "The Bible also says that it's a sin to wear clothes with mixed fabrics and eat pork. They served egg and sausage sandwiches for lunch today, Michael, and pepperoni pizza. Tell me, what did you eat? You can't pick the sins that are convenient for you. That's not the way the Bible works."

"Boys…" Charlie started again, but the class was already looking at Michael.

He stood too. Charlie had never seen the God-fearing boy so angry, and suddenly, she could see it. She could see the fury he must have had in him, that blinded him as he broke his brother's arm. She could see the calm, cool demeanor that Michael presented to everyone melt away into sociopathy, or at least, serious anger management issues.

"Boys, stop it!"

"Lucifer, you are a disgrace. You let the devil into you and you twist the word of the Lord around to suit your need. Well, no more," Michael held his hand up and scowled. "If I have to break every bone in your body, then God help me…"

"Get out," Charlie yelled. The class went silent again, and this time, twenty pairs of eyes shifted to her. She was shaking, but she tried not to let it show. "Get out of my classroom right now."

Lucifer's jaw set and he flared with anger. He grabbed his backpack and started walking down the row.

"No, not you," Charlie held her hand out to him to stop him, before she pointed at Michael. "I mean you. Michael, you need to go to the office."

The anger drained from Michael and was replaced with dumbstruck silence. It took him too long to react in his confusion, but eventually he must have figured that arguing would make it worse, because he stood, grabbed his backpack and walked out the door. Charlie grabbed the phone and made a quick call, letting the office know the boy was on his way. When she got back in the classroom, eighteen students avoided her eyes. They looked at their desks, hopefully filled with shame.

The nineteenth member of the classroom had returned to his seat. He had his elbows on the desk, his face hidden in his hands, and his back was shaking with silent sobs.

She thought about saying something about the holocaust and how it was following a leader blindly that got a lot of good German people mixed up in some bad shit. Or how it was even worse when the Germans knew better – they knew that they were wiping human remains from their cars like snow when the ash fell from the crematoriums – but they didn't say anything or rise up. It starts with denying rights, but where does it go from there?

But the boy who needed to hear it most wasn't there, so she left it for another day.

"What else do you care about?" Charlie picked up the marker. "Do any of you care about health care?"

The next day when Lucifer was late to class again, Charlie smiled at him and offered a wink. He didn't know what it could mean until he walked in the door. Hanging just above the teacher's desk was a new poster where one of Hermione previously sat. It was shaped like a tweet, with Morgan Freeman's face and twitter handle at the top. Under it, in large letters, was the tweet: "I hate the word homophobia. It's not a phobia. You are not scared. You are an asshole."

The blond twin turned around and walked back out of the classroom. Charlie was standing in the hall, to the left of the door. The other teachers had ushered their class inside and had shut them in. But Charlie had her hands behind her back, resting her shoulders against the wall. This time, she offered Lucifer a smile.

He was a lot taller than her, and when he wrapped his arms around her, he had to duck his head to fit himself to her shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered.

Charlie patted his back before shrugging him off – she didn't much care for physical affection – before she added, "You're only 18, kid. Who knows what any of you are in high school, and it's not like once you've figured it out that it'll matter to anyone who actually cares." She poked his chest, "But if you are, then we need to stick together. I'm going to get in a lot of trouble for putting that up."

"If they say anything to you, you look them right in their eyes and say, 'Peace out, bitches,'" Lucifer grinned.

Charlie pushed his shoulder, getting him into the classroom. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Castiel was doing really, really good staying off the drugs for someone who had no intrinsic motivation to get off of drugs. He only wanted them every second of every day, but since Dean hid what Castiel owned, he reminded himself that the drugs he had in his pocket were to sell and he really couldn't afford to steal any.

It was hard.

Not that they trusted him with heroin. Lucifer must have talked to Crowley, because he was only selling pot and Oxys anymore. His hand never squeezed around a balloon. They avoided temptation, which was smart, but just because these weren't his favorite didn't mean he wouldn't give in during a moment of weakness. It would only take a moment.

Dean said the first week was the hardest. After that, the body started making the chemicals he'd sent out of whack on its own and the physical dependency gave away to mental. Dr. Dean Winchester, WebMD, was right about the physical addiction. He had been sober for four days now; Castiel wasn't throwing up all the time anymore. At least, he could tell when it was coming and could rush to the bathroom. He still got the shakes, though, and the sweats, and he couldn't talk to anyone but the Winchesters, Lucifer, and Crowley and sometimes he could barely form words with them.

He didn't miss his ability to talk as much as he did the drugs, though. He was completely convinced that he would end up relapsing – life barely seemed worth living most of the time.

It helped having Sam or Dean or Lucifer always watching him. Thank God his brother made Sam work all the same shifts at the club, or Castiel would have fallen much sooner. Not that he was planning on falling tonight, just... he had Crowley to think about. He hadn't seen the other boy since his attempt at getting clean. Granted, almost four days wasn't a long stretch to be clean, but it was longer than anything he had in months. Twenty-one hours would have been longer than he had in months.

It started out like any day at the club so far. It was way too busy for a school night. The club was mostly open space, with a bar on the right, a stage in the front, and a small VIP section in the back-left corner. Lucifer usually held dominion there, but all of the sudden he was taken with his typing teacher and asked her for help with work in his other classes. When Castiel asked about the sudden interest in school, his brother mentioned something about college, much to Castiel's disbelief, and wouldn't say more. It was past five, though, so he should be showing up soon.

Between the stage and the VIP section, there was a door that led to two offices (one for each of the kings of hell), three "bedrooms" (which Lucifer insisted on calling them, even though they were Meg and the Whores' brothel rooms), and a giant storage room where they kept the extra alcohol.

"Do you have ID?" Sam asked, leaning forward toward the girl who was hardly older than he was. She giggled – Sam was a ruthless flirt, but he made great tips – and drug out the fake Balthazar made her. He sold each fake for a hundred dollars a pop, and half the kids in the club had one. It was a way for Lucifer to cover most of their asses in cases the police showed up.

But they wouldn't show up.

Sam made the girl some fruity drink just the way that Crowley showed him and pushed it to the girl. Today, Castiel and Sam were both donned in clothes three sizes too small (which for Castiel meant he had to borrow something Gabriel grew out of last year he was so thin anymore), and for Sam it meant the shirt he wore to the Senior Sign In. It made his arms look huge – which, comparatively, they were – and Castiel knew that Sam didn't even need to try in a shirt like that.

He'd been raking in phone numbers and tips for the past two hours.

Not that Castiel didn't get phone numbers; well, okay, he didn't. But he would if he could open his mouth and talk to anyone.

A shot glass slid in front of his vision, pushed by Sam's hand. They'd only been working two hours, but if Castiel took this shot, it would be his fifth one. Somewhere in the rulebook that Dean wrote to dictate what laws were trash and what laws were gold (because God forbid anyone go against his impeccable moral compass), alcohol was not considered a drug and therefore, Castiel was allowed to imbibe.

When he started working a week ago, the withdrawal pains were so bad he took to lying down on the floor behind the bar in the fetal position, trying not to puke. After tripping over him twice, Sam decided alcohol was a cure-all. It certainly didn't cure all, it was hardly more than a Band-Aid, but it was all he had. He had to talk to the patrons somehow.

And he was thinking toward the future. Toward Crowley, and how he was going to get through three more payback nights with him if he had to stay clean.

Castiel took the shot, then placed it face down on the bar. At least the kid was giving him Jäger. It went down a lot easier than vodka.

"Now you get to clean that up," Sam chastised. When he turned back to the bar, he actually jumped. Ruby was sitting across from him. Apparently, Castiel was drunk enough to laugh because Sam shot him a dirty look, before he said, "Hi, Ruby."

"Hey, Sam."

This was Sam's least favorite part of the night, but it did make a really quick buck, so he had to suck it up. Castiel started checking his pockets, making sure he had his stock ready for when his cue came. It would in the next five minutes; otherwise, Crowley wouldn't have sent Ruby over here.

Two minutes later, Lucifer showed up.

He didn't so much as show up as he plopped down at the bar next to Ruby, gestured toward a bottle of Parrot Bay Rum, and filled his mouth with an approximate shot before sitting the bottle back down. Sam smiled at him, "I thought you liked Ms. Bradbury."

"I do," Lucifer sighed. "I fucking love her, but she's a genius and it's a problem."

They laughed, and Lucifer took the silence to pour more into his mouth. The measured pourer on the top helped the liquid pour out slowly; otherwise, Sam was sure the boy would have a mouth and chin and chest full of alcohol.

Ruby took the time to slide her hand across the bar, fingers intertwining with Sam's, speaking up before he had the chance to react and pull away. "Sammy, have you picked out a place for us to go on our date tomorrow?"

Lucifer half-grimaced, half-smiled (it was certainly a strange look – mostly he just looked scared), before masking it all with a giant, fake grin. Castiel thought he was stupid, and he'd told him so when they laid across from each other in the Church's basement. His whole getting Ruby and Sam to hook up thing was stupid – there was no logic behind the reason he was doing it. It was massively flawed and moronic and more than that, Castiel was sure Sam would find it hurtful if he ever found out why Lucifer kept pushing.

In fact, the look Sam shot Lucifer kind of made Castiel think he was already hurt that his friend was pushing this coupling so hard.

When Lucifer held the heartbreakingly sad grin on his face, and added, "Aw, you kids are going out tomorrow?" Sam actually sighed and looked back at Ruby. Defeated and confused.

"Probably out to eat? I haven't gotten paid yet. So I guess nothing spectacular."

"What a charmer," Ruby said with a wink.

"Your brother took me to Burger King," Castiel offered, leaning against the bar to keep from swaying from the alcohol. "Or, I took him, I guess… I paid."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think he counts that as a date, Cas. I think that was just two bros sneaking out of the house for burgers."

"I do. Count that as a date, I mean," the dark haired boy shrugged. "He picked me a flower. What bro picks another bro a flower after their not burger date?"

Lucifer lowered the bottle to the bar again, whistling. "Wow, Sam. Who would have thought Dean was the romantic in the family."

"Shut up."

" _Step inside, walk this way. You and me, babe. Hey, hey."_

Castiel pushed the shot glass in front of Lucifer and his brother filled it for him. With one more shot – one that would likely not kick in by the time the song was over – he felt he was as prepared as ever for the quick paced sale and he hopped up on the bar, crawling over to the other side.

"You're gonna cover for me, right, Ruby?" Castiel asked, throwing his head back over his shoulder to look. He was only able to talk to her thanks to the slosh of alcohol in his belly. He thanked God for small, substance-assisted victories.

" _Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on.  
Livin' like a lover with a radar phone…"_

The girl was sitting on her knees on the bar. She had turned Sam around and pinned the back of his head in her lap (somehow). She held him down by the chin, and she picked up the rum from the bar. She poured the alcohol into the freshman's mouth and for Sam's part he mostly didn't start choking to death.

Ruby let him up for him to swallow, before she stood on the bar, raised the bottle of rum in the air and yelled, "For this song only, all drinks are half price!"

" _Take the bottle, shake it up. Break the bubble, break it up."_

As a swarm of underage kids rushed the bar, Castiel pushed his way through to stand on the other side of the dance floor. Technically speaking, junkies bought drugs from Castiel at the bar all night, but it was kind of dangerous. Nondrug users could hear – or potentially see – so Crowley set this up before Castiel and Sam started working. Ruby dragged the attention of the nondrug users to the bar, while the junkies knew to go to the other side for the real party.

When Castiel got there, there was already a group of his regulars dancing with each other. He cut in the middle, grabbing one of their wrists and pulling them into the center of the junkies. He passed them the drug and they passed him the money all while sort of dancing, to make it look as inconspicuous as possible.

" _Pour some sugar on me in the name of love.  
Pour some sugar on me, c'mon, fire me up."_

It usually took more than the four and a half minutes to get through everyone, but Castiel was getting used to the song and dance routine. This time, he was making his way back before the song even ended, watching as Lucifer took the money and Sam and Ruby worked as quickly as possible to fill the orders. Castiel slid back over the bar to help them out.

For a few minutes after the song, the trio worked to make the drinks that were already paid for at half price. Mostly, everyone sort of snuck away after the song ended. Three dollars was a lot to pay for a drink to kids who didn't have real jobs yet.

Once it died down, Ruby hopped back over the bar, giving Sam a cutesy wave and a wink before she headed back toward where Lilith was sitting with some concoction she made them.

Castiel took stock of what he'd sold so far and counted out his half of the profits. By the time he looked up, Crowley was sitting on the stool next to Lucifer, talking to Sam about Aziraphale. Sam loved the dog Castiel had given the dealer – maybe for his sixteenth birthday, Dean would let him get Sam a puppy.

Crowley met Castiel's eye and held up two fingers. Six shots in two hours were beyond pushing the drunk to wasted limit, but the more he had in him, the easier this would be. Castiel wanted heroin at almost every single fraction of every single second of the day. But he had never wanted it more than he did now.

It was one thing to cheat on Dean to pay back his debt when he was high as a kite and couldn't remember most of it anyway. He refused to do it sober.

The Novak boy put one shot glass in front of Crowley and one in front of himself, filling both full. Castiel didn't wait for Crowley to pound the shot, and he barely heard the dealer give his two-bit line for Sam and Lucifer.

"Just got a shipment in from Roman. Will you help me go through it?"

Lucifer offered to bartend with Sam, no questions asked, but it wasn't like this was a weird occurrence. So Castiel hopped the bar and let Crowley lead him into his office.

Two hundred more to go.

* * *

Many nights of their senior year went down in history: the senior sign-in, for example. To this day, students at their school talk about how legendary that year's party was and the couplings it ended up producing. Another was prom night. But, that happened a little later on, of course.

Friday, January 11th was not a date that lived in infamy, and certainly not for the vast majority of the students in the school. It did have some minor significance to Lucifer, who growled and grew vaguely pink around the ears whenever the date was mentioned from that moment on.

So, of course, Sam brought it up all the time.

January 11th is referred to as "Operation: Date Night" to Sam and Lucifer, but Ruby liked to call it "Operation: Take Sam's V-Card." And while the actual date wasn't much to write home about, the hour before the date was sort of interesting. She liked to tell the story a little like this:

It all started before Friday night. It was before Thanksgiving, the day after Lucifer tried to kill himself that one time (certainly not the first time, but whether or not it was the last was debatable), they were sitting at the TV, playing Mario Kart, and Lucifer turned suddenly to look at his girl.

He told her the plan.

She'd noticed that Lucifer had been making half-assed attempts at setting Sam and her up before, and she figured he liked to watch the kid squirm. Lucifer didn't tell her why he wanted her to execute the plan, but suddenly, it was imperative that she sleep with the kid and not tell anyone that it was a plan.

January 11th, Ruby let the plan slip.

Meg and Lilith were at her house, trying to help her get around for this date to _get food or something_. She figured Sam wanted to go on this date as much as she did – not that she didn't like this kid; no, she really liked Sam – she just didn't like him that way. There were only two people in the world that she liked that way, and one of them was the guy asking her to sleep with Sam.

Don't ask who the other one was; she won't tell you.

Anyway, the girls were over, trying to pick something that screamed _rip my clothes off_ while still being somewhat classy because Sam wasn't Dean and this wasn't going to be easy. They settled on something very similar to what she wore to the Senior Sign In. Lilith was straightening her hair, taking her time like it was brain surgery or something. She always got like that when she was doing something for Ruby – something trivial became a monumental task that had to be perfect or else.

Ruby smiled at her in the mirror. Lilith ducked her head to look back at the girl's head, trying to hide her own smile in return.

Meg returned from the closet with a pair of heels and said, "If he doesn't jump your bones in this, then he's dead or gay." She shifted her weight, looking at herself in the mirror. With her hair growing out and dark now, she was certainly pretty, but her eyes seemed dead or evil, even when she was making a joke.

"So why do you want to sleep with this kid, again?" She asked. Lilith suddenly jolted her hand away from Ruby's head, frowning as she drew her hand to her mouth. "Seriously?" Meg continued. "How do you burn yourself straightening someone else's hair?"

"I just want to, okay? The kid's cute. I want to take him before anyone else can stake a claim."

She instantly knew that was the wrong thing to say. Lilith set her jaw, putting the straighter back on the stand. She busied herself in Ruby's hair, but Meg was frowning too. It was a line. A line they'd all heard before because he said it to each of them when he took it from them.

It was quiet for too long, then Meg grabbed Ruby's arm hard enough to hurt. The younger girl frowned, trying not to wince, but she submitted. She was the last of the three, and in their strange Sister-Wife relationship, that meant she submitted to the ones before her.

"Why does he want you to sleep with Sam Winchester?"

Ruby thought about denying it, but they knew. There was no way out but the truth. "He didn't tell me why, he just told me to do it. And I'd do anything for him, just like you would."

"Yeah, but," Meg let go of the other girl's arm, instead crossing her arms over her chest. "But why you? Have you even ever… been with anyone other than him?" Ruby made eye contact with Lilith in the mirror before she looked down again. That was answer enough for Meg. "I've been making him money doing that. Why would he ask you instead of me?"

Ruby thought she knew, but instead she snipped back, "Maybe because you'll sleep with anyone for cash and he thinks Sam deserves better than that."

The girls fought quite a bit. Or at least, Meg and Ruby did. Lilith was mostly quietly devout, childlike in her ways of scary intensity. It was nothing major for Meg to storm out of Ruby's house, with a one-liner, but Ruby swore under breath when Meg's comment happened to be, "Have fun walking to Sam's house in heels, you bitch."

"Don't worry," Lilith said when the door slammed, "I'll drive you."

"Thanks."

They were quiet for a few more moments while Lilith finished Ruby's hair. When it was done, Lilith put her chin on Ruby's head and sighed, looking at their reflections in the mirror. "Why do you really think he didn't ask Meg?"

Ruby frowned when the other girl removed herself, opting instead to sit on corner of Ruby's bed. The dark-haired girl turned to face her friend, and she ran her fingers over her bare knees, wishing her dress was a little longer.

"She's eighteen, and Sam's fifteen. I'm not really sure how the age-of-consent stuff works, but I think if two people are under eighteen, it's fine. But since Meg isn't…" Ruby trailed off and Lilith nodded. "And he wouldn't ask you, because he knows you wouldn't do it."

Lilith looked into her hands, "He was my first and last. I've always said that."

"You can't hold yourself to the promises you made to him when you were fourteen," Ruby's fingers dug into her legs. "He certainly didn't. Especially after what he did to you…"

"He didn't do anything to me."

"Exactly. One-and-done. Isn't that the problem?" Ruby hissed. Lucifer talked to her. She wasn't sure if he talked to the others too, but over the course of their years together (but never as an exclusive couple), he would spill some things when he was in bed. He loved Lilith; he really did. Maybe even more than he loved Ruby, but he couldn't go back to her. He just couldn't.

They only had the one time. They were each other's firsts and never again.

Lilith was quiet for so long, Ruby was sure she hurt her in some irreparable way. Finally, her bottom lip was caught between her teeth and she raised her head to look at her friend. "I think his entire life he's been searching for the one person who made him complete. He didn't want to keep at it when he knew it wasn't me."

Ruby looked down, but Lilith kept talking, "So when you're out with Sam tonight, you should really think about why he's asking you to do this. It may be worth more in the end to defy him."

They were quiet for a moment longer, and suddenly Ruby needed to change the topic. It was too much to think about. "What are you going to do tonight?"

"I was thinking I would go to the playground. A gang of little girls like to hang out there some times. I like to talk to them."

"Wow, Lilith. You are so weird."

* * *

When Sam told John he had a date, John responded by getting the hell out of dodge. He'd gone through that whole routine with Dean and he'd be _damned_ if he was going to sit downstairs _knowing_ what was going on in his house. Better to bother Bobby in the shop and pretend nothing was happening.

So when Sam and Ruby got back to the Winchesters' house just after eight, they were greeted by a scene of domestic bliss. Two empty pie plates were on the stand. Dean and Castiel were curled together under one of Mary's old quilts, reading a book. Ruby didn't really _feel_ things the way normal people felt them, but she would be lying if she said her heart didn't squeeze when Castiel looked up at them and smiled, but Dean shifted.

"I can't see around your big, stupid head, Cas."

"Dean," Sam chastised. "Don't be rude to your boyfriend just because we have company."

"I'm not being rude," Dean snipped back, breaking eye contact with the book, to glare at his brother. "He knows exactly how I actually feel about his big, stupid head when it isn't covering the exploits of Tender Branson."

"Oh, you have him reading Palahniuk now? _Survivor_ 's my favorite."

"Yes," Castiel answered, ignoring the way Dean growled at them to be quiet. "I borrowed it from your room. I'm sorry, but you said you didn't mind if I borrowed books from you before. Although, when I opened it up, I noticed it had my brother's name on the inside cover. He doesn't have any books at the church. Did you take it from Michael's room?"

Sam grabbed Ruby's hand, pulling her toward the stairs, but he blushed, giving himself away. "He said I could."

Dean looked at the retreating couple and grinned, "Oh, and Sam? Will you shut the door? We don't need to hear that, buddy." Castiel thought that advice seemed backwards from every sitcom he'd ever seen, but didn't question it. Sam just groaned and slammed the door once he reached his room.

The older Winchester snuggled (well, a more manly version of snuggling) back down into his book and boyfriend. Castiel pulled his phone from his pocket. Dean really tried to give him his privacy, but he couldn't help his eyes from drifting down, catching the text to Lucifer that read, "they're here." Castiel never tried to hide what he was saying to his brother from Dean, but it still felt a little bit like snooping.

"Why does your brother care that they're here? He better not be fucking planning anything."

Castiel shook his head and put his phone away. "He set them up, you know. He was probably just wondering how successful he was."

Dean gave a sound, but otherwise didn't answer. They finished another chapter (which took a lot longer than expected. Castiel read almost twice as fast as Dean did and when he finished a page he'd turn his attention to Dean's body. It was really fucking hard to read about a death cult when Castiel was kissing his neck or trailing his fingers over his stomach) before Castiel's phone started buzzing, alerting him of a new text message.

The display said it was Crowley.

Castiel frowned, like he really wasn't expecting a text from him and was pissed about it. He drew the blanket back with a quiet, "excuse me," and walked the empty plates out into the kitchen. Dean sort of hated the way Castiel got sometimes with Crowley, like everything was some secret. It pissed him off that Castiel would let him read text after text from almost anyone over his shoulder but the second Crowley's name came up, he had to leave. Literally. Usually Crowley would text him and Castiel would leave to make a payment then stay at Lucifer's. He rarely walked the twenty minutes back after a visit with the dealer turned loan shark.

Dean was sort of pissed he had to spend Friday alone with the couple fucking above him, but Sam only had to do it hundreds of times with him and Castiel, so Dean could deal this once.

A plate dropped on the kitchen floor. Dean took off toward the kitchen, but Castiel met him halfway out. "Crowley said Lucifer's in the Church's bell tower, screaming, and he can't get him to respond."

"I think your brother needs professional help, Cas."

"Dean, I have to go to him."

"Yeah, I know. I'll come too. Let me just tell Sam where we're going. It's a big brother's duty to be a cockblock."

Castiel sat down, pulling on his shoes and lacing them quickly. "Thank God you don't have a big brother."

To be completely fair, Dean knocked three times on the door. Sam answered with, "Are you serious, Dean?" but the older boy opened the door a crack, just enough so Sam could hear him without shouting, though, certainly not enough to see inside.

"Hey, Crowley just texted Cas and said Lucifer's having a fit in the bell tower. We're gonna run over there real quick before he jumps or something," Dean paused. "So if you want to get loud and freaky, now's your chance. I'll text you when we get a block away from being home."

The door swung open. Sam was minus a shirt, (and his hair was everywhere,) but still had his pants on. Ruby looked completely dressed. Kind of slow foreplay for a whole chapter worth of reading, Dean and Castiel could have been on round two by then, but they weren't testing the waters anymore either.

"I'll go with you."

"Are you fucking nuts, Sam? No. You're staying here," then Dean shot a look back at Ruby, as if to further ask Sam if he were crazy. "We only told you so if you came down and didn't see us you didn't worry."

"Dean!" Castiel called from downstairs.

"Have fun, Sammy!"

"Dean!" Sam called back as the older boys ran out the front door.

It took them ten minutes to run to the church, which was an impressive feat because Castiel was still a recovering drug addict. They could hear Lucifer screaming half a block away, but the closer they got, the less it sounded like screaming and the more it sounded like crazed singing. The bell tower was probably fifty feet off the ground, but they could see the boy's outline in open part of it. Aziraphale came running as soon as they got into sight, ignoring his master's angry shouts as he jumped up on Castiel's leg.

Lucifer was sitting down, right now, playing the guitar as he sang. _"You're in the next room sleeping, and I'm shouting out a song for you. I shouldn't wake you over the furnace, but I should swear to someone you'd have loved every note."_

Crowley was standing across the street, looking up like a half-worried rubbernecker. When he saw the boys approach, he started explaining without being questioned. "He was rough all night. Pacing, snapping at me, you know, the usual. Then you fucking texted him about Sam and Ruby and he calmly got up, went to the bell tower, and started that singing. He hasn't tried to throw himself off yet, but when I went up there and tried talking to him, he shut his eyes and sang louder."

" _No one could tell even if I fell one hundred stories down. I was getting bored with hurting myself. If you fall down enough, well, soon enough you will find Hell."_

"Well," Castiel said, shielding his eyes from the sun to look at his brother. "I don't think he's going to throw himself over. That's his favorite band. It's one of his favorite songs."

"Maybe he wants to hear something good before he goes?" Crowley asked.

" _It can't be as pretty as you hoped it would be. It's not even warm here, not even ten degrees."_

"No, this is a lamenting love song for him," Castiel sighed. "I'll go talk to him. Be right back."

It wasn't until Castiel got halfway up the steps to the Church tower that he realized leaving Dean and Crowley together was probably a missive mistake. He rushed the second half of the stairs, and as soon as he burst through the door to the bell tower, he rushed to the window to see if either (or both) boys were dead.

" _Dream a good one tonight."_

They weren't even arguing. Crowley was looking up at him, but Dean was on his knees, playing with Aziraphale. Thank God for that dog.

When the song was over, Lucifer's fingers started plucking at another Alkaline Trio song. Castiel wondered how he was going to break the trance, but it proved much easier when Lucifer looked over at him and asked, "How was it going with them?"

"Dean said Sam had his shirt off. A block ago he said they were probably at second or third base already. He's very proud of his younger brother."

Lucifer snorted, strumming another chord. "I bet he'd be less than thrilled if that was me with his brother."

Castiel couldn't disagree, "Dean and I never talked about how he told Sam about us, but Sam has been nothing but wonderful to me. If Dean were any less to you, Sam would never forgive him for it."

"That's not what I want, though," An angry strum shifted the chord out of tune slightly. Castiel sat down. "I just want to be accepted. No _ifs_ or _buts_. No ' _You better be nice to him, Dean'._ If I were… He's proud of Sam with Ruby. I want him to be proud of Sam with me."

"Then you shouldn't have dangled Ruby out there like she was an option," Castiel looked over the ledge. Dean was standing up, looking up at them. Aziraphale was sitting dutiful at his master's heels. "I love him to death, but if you dangle a hot chick in front of him, he's not exactly going to look twice at anything else."

"He looked twice at you."

"Look, if you want to fuck my boyfriend, I'm sure we could arrange something." That, at least, got Lucifer to smile in a disgusted sort of way, but Castiel continued, "but I thought you loved Sam."

Lucifer's smile dropped and he sighed. "I do. You know I do. And you know that's why Ruby has to have him first. I can't… You know why. Don't make me say it again."

"You don't want to say it again because it's a stupid reason," but Castiel took some sort of pity on him, because he un-tactfully changed the subject. "So are you about to jump to your death or what?"

Lucifer frowned, looking at Castiel like he was crazy. "I would never jump to my death! It leaves too little room for error. How is my little brother supposed to show up and save me in time to make him feel like he was useful between the time I jump and the time I hit the pavement?"

Castiel scoffed, "Next time, I won't come running when Crowley texts me with his panties in a twist thinking you're suicidal then."

"Crowley thought I was…" Lucifer laughed. "I'm actually touched."

"Lucifer…"

"Some days I want to die as much as you want to shoot up, brother," Lucifer stood, and started leading the younger boy down the stairs. "But we're dealing with this, aren't we? Together?"

Aziraphale broke his heel to rush at Lucifer, who scooped him up the second he got close enough. Crowley started bitching about how his dog needed to learn discipline and how was he supposed to do that if everyone kept treating him like a puppy, but Lucifer looped his other arm over Castiel's shoulder and kissed his forehead goodbye.

When they got back, Sam was sitting on the front porch with his elbows on his knees and he head in his hands. They exchanged stories – Crowley's freak out over mostly nothing for Sam kicking Ruby out the second Dean and Castiel left – then they decided that since John wasn't going to be back until later, they might as well tie one on.

Sam was certainly learning at the bar, and Castiel kept going on and on and on about how he liked rubbing Dean's back when _he_ was throwing up a lot more than throwing up from withdrawal.

When John did finally get back, Dean was sleeping in the tub and Castiel was mostly asleep near the tub.

"What's wrong with him, son?" John asked, worry seeping into his voice at the role reversal.

"We drank too much," Castiel yawned. "I guess Dean drank the most. I just… I don't want to fall asleep and have him stop breathing. If I'm awake, I can – I dunno – call 911 and give CPR. I'm CPR certified, y'know?"

"Help me move him back to your room," John responded, flicking his son's ear until he woke up with a very manly whine. The two of them helped him to get standing and half dragged him to his room. When they got there, John saw Sam must have had the same idea earlier, because a puke bucket was set on the floor, but Sam was sleeping on the bed. "Was Sam drinking too?"

"Yes, sir," Castiel looked at the floor. "Sam didn't have sex with that girl so we got drunk to celebrate. Except Dean, I think he was mourning. I'm sorry, sir."

John sighed, dragging Dean to the bed so he could wake up Sam. "I'm certainly in no position to judge, Cas."

Sam was more groggy than drunk – thank God – and he walked off to his own room with a good night. John deposited Dean unceremoniously where his brother just left. He nodded at the bed, holding the blanket in his arms waiting for Castiel to join Dean.

"Do you want me to hide the bottles, Mr. Winchester? I'll do that. I don't want to… we should have known better. This is very insensitive."

John smiled, a small, grateful thing, before nodding at the bed again, "I'll be fine tonight, Cas, but thank you."

"I wouldn't," Castiel climbed onto the bed, over Dean to sleep between him and the wall. It was kind of cute to see the smaller boy as the big spoon. "If I had some drugs in my hand, I'd take them. Anything. I can't imagine ever being okay again."

"You will be, son. Trust me. If I can do it, you can." John put the blanket over the boys, trying to hide his smile when Castiel put his forehead between Dean's shoulder blades. "Try not to let him throw up on you."

"I wouldn't mind if he did. I've thrown up on him a lot," Castiel mumbled sleepily. "That's how I know he loves me, 'cause how could you let someone throw up on you and not be mad and not love them?"

John smiled – that seemed like something Mary would have said to him – and he dared to reach out his hand and put it in Castiel's hair. The smaller boy sighed into the touch, letting out a bunch of tension out of his body.

"Yeah, Cas, he sure does love you. Me and Sammy do too. You just try and get some sleep now. Good night."

"Good night, dad," the younger boy mumbled back.

It was probably a slip up. It was almost definitely a drunken slip up. But John thought about that the whole way back to his room, cherishing the title like it meant he earned some big award, or some big forgiveness. Even if Castiel went back to calling him Mr. Winchester tomorrow, John swore he would hang on to that.

* * *

When Sam had a lot on his mind, he liked to swing at the playground. He could remember Dean taking him to play when he was really young, barely able to walk, and their dad had just gotten done with a double shift and he was sleeping under a tree when he was supposed to be watching them.

John lost it when Mary died, but at least for a while, he tried. Coming back to this playground made Sam feel like he could try too.

Before the gangs started, back when Sam wasn't spending every moment training to fight or working in a Speak Easy for under-aged kids, he used to come here with Gabriel and Balthazar. Sure, he saw them nearly every day – either at school or at Michael's prayer circles that Sam sometimes managed to catch – but it wasn't like they talked. Balthazar mostly went on and on and on about Bela (which, great for him, it had been almost four months and she hadn't gotten sick of him yet), and Gabriel had grown quiet – a reserved shell of the boy he used to be before his family spit apart.

Sam hadn't really heard much from him since pep band gave way to concert band. Michael was back in the percussion and Gabriel was sitting a row in front of him in the brass. There hadn't even been whispers of a prank.

It was sad.

A bunch of those high school shows always talked about growing apart from friends. How it's natural, but Sam sort of thought that would happen in college – not his first year of high school. He had his shit to do (which apparently meant dating Ruby now along with all the other things), Balthazar was spending every moment in his room making forgeries or with Bela, and who knew what Gabriel was up to in his free time. And what happened next year? At least Ruby would be gone, but that meant Lucifer would probably leave too.

He'd take a hundred stupid dates with Ruby if it meant Lucifer stuck around.

"Hey, kiddo, mind if I join you?" A voice knocked him from his thoughts, but the boy attached the voice didn't wait for an answer before he plopped down. Sam hadn't even recognized it at first, not until he saw the slicked back hair and the somewhat forced smile around a lollipop.

"You know I'm older than you right?" Sam joked, but Gabriel just snorted his reply.

Even after months of not properly hanging out, they fell into a comfortable silence like they still did this every day. Sam let his legs catch the dirt underneath him and he walked himself back before starting the back and forth with his legs and arms to get him going higher. His smaller friend watched for a minute, forehead resting against the greasy chains before he bit the rest of his sucker and tossed the stick to the side, pushing himself off with his legs, trying to catch up.

They pushed higher and higher until they started making the bar shake with their weight (which was certainly more than it was when they were six), and Safety Captain Sam decided they should swing lower. Gabriel decided they should see who could jump the farthest.

Gabriel was winning – he had always won at this game, though, because when he took off from the swing he flew through the air like he had some sort of invisible wings – when Sam was about to jump for his third attempt at beating that record and heard somebody laugh just as he was leaving the swing. In a panic, he grabbed the chain and tried to pull himself back on, but it resulted in him crashing to earth, and then having his arm twist under the swing.

"Watch it there, Sammy, what good will you be making my brother his money if you're hurt? Especially since your cage match with Jake is less than three weeks away." Unlike Gabriel and his changing voice, Sam could pick out Balthazar's _speech impediment_ anywhere.

He looked up from his heap on the ground to look at the boy. He was as tall as Castiel was, but he looked bigger with the weight difference. Balthazar had always thrown his few inches around to display dominance over his smaller friends. Sam turned his attention back to himself, checking his elbows for scrapes. He was bleeding from his elbow, but his jeans took most of what his legs would have gotten. His ankle was throbbing from the awkward angle he landed at.

Balthazar was right, Ruby would be livid if he came in limping tomorrow.

He decided to play it cool – like he wanted to stay sitting in the dirt in front of the swing – and shrugged at Balthazar. "They don't own me."

"Right," Balthazar winked, taking the swing on the other side of the one Sam was sitting in front of. Gabriel was back on his swing, a genuine smile was plastered on his face. "Rumor around the school is you had a date with Ruby last night. So, answer the question she is refusing to talk about. Did you stick it in her?"

"Balthy," Gabriel warned. Balthazar shot him a look, abhorring that particular pet name anymore, which was undoubtedly the reason why Gabriel used it.

"No, but I accidently kicked her out," Sam grinned at Gabriel, who actually seemed to sigh with relief with the news. "So that counts for something, right?"

"Why would you do something like that, Sam?" Balthazar exploded, arms failing in an undignified way that almost resulted in him toppling off the swing. "Doesn't that go against your primary directive in life as a teenage male? To stick your thing in someone else's… thing?"

"I don't love her," Sam shrugged. "What's the point of…"

"Exactly!" Gabriel cut in. "Case and point, Balthy, exactly. Almost four months now he's been telling me to get laid," the smallest boy explained, looking down at Sam, "and I told him that and he called me a pussy, but _he_ sure as hell waited until _he_ was in love."

"I'm not in love with Bela," Balthazar snapped. "I just like having sex with her."

Gabriel growled, "Being in love doesn't make you a wimp, stupid. Look at Dean. He could still kick your ass. The fact that you won't admit it just makes you a jackass."

Balthazar gritted his teeth, but otherwise didn't comment. Instead, he opted to stare at the line Gabriel drew in the dirt from his farthest jump. The younger brother chose not to push the subject further, so the three of them fell into silence.

A lot had gone on in four months. Hell, a lot had gone on in the past two weeks. Sam's current nightmares were haunted with the sound of Castiel puking his guts out in the bathroom while his brother played nurse and murmured in his ear. How many nights was Sam awoken to the terrified screams of his friend, begging Dean to fight the demons or get the spiders off of him?

Did Balthazar and Gabriel even know Castiel was getting clean? Did they even know that their brother was an addict in the first place?

A lot had changed in four months, and Sam wasn't even sure where to begin. Certainly not with Castiel – that wasn't exactly Sam's secret to tell – but they had a lot of catching up to do.

"Does your brother really love our brother?" Balthazar asked, looking down into his hands.

Sam didn't even have to think. "My mom died when I was a baby, so I never really saw love first hand. I saw the absence of it with my dad, but… I can't imagine Dean ever loving anyone else like he loves Cas. I can't imagine anyone loving someone more than they love each other."

Balthazar nodded, and Sam expected the conversation to drop again, but Gabriel had other ideas. "Do you think they'll get married?"

Balthazar laughed, but Sam couldn't exactly say he hadn't thought about it before, specifically the mechanics. Would Dean give Castiel an engagement ring? Did dudes get other dudes engagement rings? He would have to actually look up the finer details of wedding traditions since he'd never been to one himself – he'd only ever seen them in movies.

"Obviously Sam would be Dean's Best Man," Gabriel went on. "But who'd be Cassie's Maid of Honor."

Again, Sam didn't have to think of the response. Instead, he burst out laughing at the thought of Lucifer wearing a dress. Though he didn't vocalize the idea, in fear the other two brothers would be offended they weren't chosen for such a prestigious role in Sam's mind-wedding.

Maybe Gabriel could be the ring bearer.

Sam started laughing again.

"And just think, boys," Balthazar stood, reaching his arms over his head and twisting his body to stretch his back. "We get to say that we got them together. It was obviously our meddling that lead to such success."

"I thought we gave up on them," Gabriel answered, grinning. "And then they just happened to make out at that party."

Balthazar frowned, "No, baby brother. I'm quite certain we had something to do with it. If nothing else, your performance at the party got them hot and bothered and my superior bartending skills gave them the little push they need." He looked at Sam, who stood and started testing out his ankle. "Though, I seem to remember you hiding all night. So you don't get to stake a claim, Sammy."

"I talked to Cas that night," Sam frowned, opting to sit back on the swing. Ruby was going to kill him. "But Dean still doesn't know I was there."

"Well, remind me of that next time you piss me off," Balthazar started walking backwards, waving as he went. "Well, boys, it has been fun, a real treat. We'll have to do it again sometime. But I've got three fakes to make before next week. And I've actually got an arms deal to plan so… Preparation is key, boys. Remember that if you ever get another chance with Ruby, Sam."

The smaller two boys watched as Balthazar walked back to his house.

"So I take it you don't want to try and beat my jump then?" Gabriel grinned, but Sam just winced. "Then I should probably help you limp home. It's gonna take twice as long on a bummed ankle."

The process was long and painful, (Sam could walk on it so he didn't need to lean on Gabriel but each step caused a flair of pain so they had to keep taking breaks,) and when Sam finally plopped down on the couch and Gabriel went to the kitchen to get his friend some ice, Sam checked the clock and realized Dean would be home from work soon. Castiel was with Lucifer tonight, and John spent a lot of time haunting diners lately. It was weird, but the man deserved some enjoyment in his life.

Gabriel came back with a bag full of ice, but dropped it roughly on his friend's ankle just to be a jerk. He smiled sweetly at the death glare Sam shot him and sat down on the opposite couch, shooting out a casual, "Where is everyone?"

"Dean's at work. Cas sleeps at Lucifer's a lot…"

"Cassie and Luci have slumber parties?" Gabriel asked. He was going for a tone of fake-bewilderment but a little bit of the real thing slipped in.

"Yeah," Sam shifted his foot, putting it up on a pillow and laying down. Did Gabriel know he tried to kill himself? What would be safe to say? "He gets lonely in the Church by himself. Sometimes he sleeps over here, too."

"He sleeps…" Gabriel shook his head. "Why didn't you ever tell me that? I haven't seen Lucifer in months, Sam!"

"Well, you never come to the Church," Sam shot back. "I figured you were Team Michael and didn't want to see him. Besides, you sit with him at lunch, so you see him every day."

"Yeah, I see him with Balthazar shoving his head halfway up Lucifer's ass, and his ladies giving him bedroom eyes, and him talking about the gang, but I mean I haven't seen my _brother_ in months," Gabriel punched at the couch cushion, looking down at the floor. "The guy who taught me to ride a bike when our dad was out of town on a mission's trip and mom got sick and couldn't leave her room. I miss my brothers, Sam. And they're always here hanging out with you and yours."

"I thought you weren't very close," Sam offered, like it was some kind of excuse.

"We weren't. We used to be. Mom used to film us doing musicals all the time. But then, one day mom got sick and she never really recovered from that. She ended up going away on business trips all the time – I was six, Sam. Our dad did the best he could, but our grandpa's idea of love was beating his kids with the Bible. So we got that same tough love. Look at Michael – he's the good son, loyal to an absent father. With mom gone for large stretches of time, we had to rely on Bible time for talk."

Gabriel's hand left the couch; instead, his nails started scratching at his knee, "And then dad left and… and even mom… when she was home, she wasn't really there anymore. She was very… gone. She was gone way before she died. She was gone years before dad left."

Sam frowned at his ankle, unsure of what to say. But Gabriel wasn't done yet. "It kills me, Sam. All I ever hear from Michael is how wrong Lucifer is. And for what? Trying to kiss you? Look how great that turned out for him, no offense. He can't live at home and he doesn't have you. Or anyone."

"So… you're on Lucifer's side?"

"No, Sam," Gabriel sighed. "I'm not on anyone's side. Because despite Michael's archaic views on marriage, he's bringing faith to kids and he's doing a lot of good. And Lucifer may be the victim, but look at what he's done. He victimizes others in the name of wronging Michael. They've always had a lot of petty fights, but this is a petty fight that's blown way out of proportion. Someone's going to get hurt for real."

Gabriel crossed his arms and sat back against the couch. "I just want the fighting to be over."

Luckily for Sam, who had no idea what to say to all of that, Dean walked in. Despite Castiel being gone for the night, he seemed chipper, even throwing a grin in Gabriel's direction saying, "Well hello there, half-pint," before making his way to the kitchen to scrub his hands.

Gabriel was silent for a moment longer, before his eyebrows lowered and he looked at Sam. "Did your brother just make a _Little House on the Prairie_ reference at me?"

"Uh… yeah…" Sam grinned. "Our mom used to watch it when she was a kid and Dean couldn't sleep without it after she died. But don't tell anyone; he'd kill me for telling you."

For the first time all night, a familiar smile twisted on Gabriel's face. The one he used to get when he was plotting.

* * *

It was Monday, January 14th when Bobby said the most disgusting chick-flick moment thing he'd ever said, and Dean almost died of embarrassment. It started a little before that exact moment – as embarrassing moments often do – specifically it started when his AC/DC cassette started rewinding and the sudden silence let Bobby's voice travel in from the front of the shop.

It wasn't too common or uncommon for Bobby to be talking up there. People came in all the time, but the thing that made Dean pay attention to this moment was the sound of his employer's chuckling. Bobby was at best crotchety, so anything that even resembled a laugh was kind of strange.

Dean explained it away that his dad must have stopped by. But when the cassette tape clicked and Dean made a move to start it over again, another voice echoed down the shop and that voice certainly was not his dad's.

Dean looked out the window connected the shop part of the garage with the lobby part. Castiel was leaning on his forearms, pointing at a piece of paper that was on the table between them. Bobby was nodding, explaining something in a quieter voice. Castiel's face lit up, and he nodded, removing an envelope from his pocket and giving it to Bobby. The older man took it and slipped in his jacket.

Castiel carefully folded up the paper he had been pointing at and put it in his pocket. He turned to leave, but he must have caught Dean looking at him through the window, because he turned a little bit and gave a friendly wave. Dean smiled and waved back, but for some reason Bobby and Castiel were two different social circles in his life, and the fact that they were coming together seemed like trouble.

He didn't have to wait for an explanation. Bobby was walking in and back to the refrigerator. He approached with two beers in hand and said, "Well, ain't your boyfriend just the most thoughtful sonovabitch."

Dean was floored. Bobby let go of the beer but it slipped between Dean's fingers. The bottle crashed open and spilled on the ground. Bobby frowned, but Dean found his voice. "Cas isn't my…"

"You sure you want to finish that sentence?" Bobby cut in. "Think of Peter and Jesus and betrayal."

Dean shut his mouth even though he didn't know the reference, and instead busied himself with cleaning up his mess on the floor. His heart was racing, and he could hear the blood rushing past his ears. Some basic fight-or-flight instinct started to take over, and Dean wondered how hard Bobby was going to punch him.

"Are you kidding me, you idjit?" Bobby grabbed Dean by the bicep and pulled him up. Dean stood, staring at the older man's chest, refusing to meet his eye. "I don't know why that boy even keeps you around if you're too ashamed'a him to even admit what he is to you."

"I'm not ashamed of him," Dean insisted, forcing himself to look at Bobby. "But his brother got kicked out of his house for maybe trying to kiss a dude... I don't even know... and it's not like I ever see you flying rainbow flags. It's like war out there and everyone's wearing the same armor so you can't tell who's about to knife you." He paused for a minute, jaw set, and he pushed Bobby with the heel of his palm. "I'm not ashamed of him."

"You know it doesn't matter, right?" Bobby hadn't opened his beer yet, so he extended to toward Dean, making sure he had it in his hands this time before he let go. "It doesn't matter to a single damn one of us who you're with if that person makes you happy. You can tell us things, Dean. That's what family's for."

It was two days later, when Dean was still plotting his revenge for the disgusting chick-flick moment (that made him feel way too warm and bubbly inside), that he saw his opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. He heard Castiel talking with Bobby again. This time, they were looking in an unmarked brown box. Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and marched right out there.

They heard him coming and Bobby put the lid back on the box. Castiel smiled – God he was so fucking beautiful when he smiled and he was sober – and opened his mouth the great him. Dean beat him to it. He put a hand on either side of his boyfriend's face and pulled him in, pressing their lips together with a little more force than he intended to. It was quick, just enough time for Castiel to grip Dean's hip in a strange attempt to either pull him closer or push him away. When Dean broke the kiss, Castiel's chest and neck were on fire from his blush, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as the smile formed again.

"Hello, Dean."

"You know how much I fucking love you, right, Cas?" One of Dean's hands brushed through Castiel's hair, the other fell to the back of his neck, ready to pull him in again.

Castiel beamed – literally beamed – like a sun just exploded inside of him. "Yes, Dean. I love you, as well. More than anything."

The older boy murmured, "Good," before pulling him back in.

This time when they broke apart, Bobby and the box were gone. When Castiel left and Dean found Bobby working on the car Dean had abandoned, the older man huffed, "Well someone had to do some actual work around here. Cars don't run on lollipops and unicorn farts."

Dean actually laughed at that, putting his hand on Bobby's shoulder. The older man gave him a soft smile, and they never talked about it ever again.

* * *

It had been a week since Ruby and Sam's date, and Lucifer still had no idea how it went or what went down; though, they probably both went down if the night went like Lucifer imagined. And as he tossed and turned every night for the past week, he couldn't get the vague images of all the nasty things Ruby had done to Sam out of his mind.

Lucifer had to admit that there were a lot of things wrong with him – he was in no fantasy world about his sanity and, debatably, it being all there – but the one thing he constantly reminded himself that he wasn't was a pervert. He wasn't a sexual deviant, and he wasn't _really_ a pedophile. Right? Well, when he couldn't get the stupid thoughts out of his mind – and believe him when he said that for a week, he thought of everything, _everything,_ that he knew of that the two of them could have done – but despite the sexual content warning, it stayed PG-13.

He saw them making out and ripping off each other's clothes, but it was never explicit. His mind never wandered over what he _imagined_ Sam's body to look like – the parts he hadn't already seen, anyway – and even though he _had_ seen all Ruby had to offer, she remained hidden from view as well. The whole experience was like he was watching them through Sam's closet, covering his eyes, hearing their moans, and wishing please _God_ would this stop so he could go to sleep.

Of course, he didn't spend a week in the dark on purpose, he texted Castiel that night and asked what Sam and Ruby were doing. He saved the message and kept reading it over and over, searching for clues.

 **Castiel** : It's not my business. Nut up and ask Sam. And while you're at it, tell him the truth.

But Castiel was always fairly clear with his meanings. And since his straight-forward answer didn't give him the answer he wanted, he thought to ask Ruby. When the girl was walking into the Church Saturday morning to train Sam, Lucifer waited in the bell tower. When the girl approached and Lucifer saw the younger Winchester was nowhere in sight, he called down, "How'd it go last night?"

Ruby looked up at him and frowned, displeased at the sight of the eighteen-year-old hanging out the window with a potential fifty foot drop to immediate death. She was suddenly pissed – completely livid – and shook her fist at him. Which, if Lucifer weren't above her, would be more threatening.

"You really need to think about your life choices and pull your head out of your ass."

That had been surprising. But when Lilith showed up a few minutes later instead of Sam, and she looked up at him and smiled, Lucifer realized that he still had no idea what was going on with the two of them.

So he watched.

Ruby really liked having Sam do pushups as she sat on his back, and Lucifer got all like Channing Tatum in _She's the Man_ when Olivia finally paid attention to him. At least he didn't ask aloud if Sam could do it with his weight – at least a fifty pound difference from his trainer. (But every time he thought about asking, he was sure he looked as stupid as Duke did).

At this point, before he went on talking about watching Sam and Ruby like a creep, Lucifer would like to point out that he was not a sexual deviant or a pedophile. He thought Sam was an attractive guy – and he was growing into his skin (literally) every day, which only made him all the more attractive – but he never once, not in the four months of pining for the kid, thought about anything more than kissing him. And it wasn't like he thought about pushing him up against a wall and macking his freaking brains out; no, when he thought about kissing Sam, it always went back to that night at Crowley's and how he should have acted faster and kissed him before Michael found them.

It was strange. It was like that night at the party changed him and he had no sexual drive at all. He could admit people were attractive, but he wasn't overcome with lust. He'll spare the details, but a normal eighteen-year-old wouldn't have gone four months without needing _relief_ , but he hadn't felt the need, not even a smidgen of desire to take care of himself, since that party.

Instead, he felt this overwhelming loss. He felt it when Michael kicked him out, and thought it was God's grace leaving him – punishing him for the sin he'd committed in his heart. Or maybe he missed Michael. And while he certainly missed his brother, the only time he felt whole was around the younger boy (and to a lesser extent, he felt pretty content with Castiel and Dean). But Sam seemed like a part of him. Something in their destiny so completely woven together, it was like they shared a paopu as kids and it hurt when they were separated. It was so emotional and spiritual – this connection that Lucifer wasn't even sure Sam felt at all – that anything sexual fell away to the background.

Yes, he wanted all of Sam… one day, if that were a possibility. But that certainly wasn't his endgame per se. He wanted to Vulcan mind meld with him. And, if that lead to something else that Sam wanted… who was he to deny the perfect creature who symbolized all that was good and pure in the world and proof that God loved humanity?

But, where was he again? Oh yeah, watching Sam.

So other than Ruby forcing Sam's biceps to grow at a rate only slightly more rapid than his vertical assent, she was suddenly closer to the boy. Lucifer would slip in the kitchen for a drink and Ruby would be rubbing his arm, leaning close to him, murmuring, and Sam would be full of stupid, teenage boy smiles. Or at lunch she'd whisper in his ear and run her fingers through his (also growing) hair, and he would blush and send her a soft, lovely smile.

But a week after _whatever_ happened, something else happened and Lucifer couldn't stand not knowing any longer. A bunch of Azazel's kids happened to be at the Church – not Jake, but the others who were only in the competition for bragging rights and money – and Lucifer was perching on the window that was between the living/training area and the kitchen were Castiel and Crowley were playing beer pong.

Well, water pong because it was more sanitary, and they were taking shots, not drinking beer. So Shot Pong? Whatever, it didn't matter.

Lucifer split his attention between Sam and his brother, finding it curious that he seemed so anxious to get so drunk so fast. Soon enough, the beer pong game changed into slurred insults and disturbing looks that Lucifer didn't care to place. He was watching them – the way they were both suddenly in the middle of the table, with Castiel leaning against it, taking what had to be a grossly high number of shots, with Crowley leaning next to him, just a little too close… just… something was there that was just out of Lucifer's grasp, when he heard Ruby growl and say, "C'mon, Sam."

Her fingers were tight around his wrist, and Lucifer watched in horror as she pulled the boy toward the stairs. The upstairs. The only thing up there was half-cleaned rooms that used to be used for Sunday school but now would make a quiet, private place to… to…

"Everyone out, now!"

Everyone froze. Castiel looked over his shoulder at his brother, and Crowley looked like he needed help finding the voice at all. The fighters and trainers headed to the door, and Ruby threw him a look that he really couldn't read in his rage, and Lucifer clarified. "Everyone but Winchester out. Ruby, that means you. And that especially means your drunken asses."

Castiel and Crowley were a labor, debatably too drunk to go anywhere on their own and by the time they made it out of the kitchen, Sam was standing alone in their path. Lucifer jumped down, about to help the idiots out of the church, when Castiel wrapped his arms around Sam and held him close.

His brother, the fucking happy, lovey drunk, kissed the top of Sam's forehead, and Lucifer wanted to kill him. But then Castiel pulled back, and the look of love on his face was something more akin to Lucifer than Dean – a brotherly sort of love – and Castiel placed two unsteady hands on Sam's shoulders and said, "After this payment, I only owe Crowley a hundred dollars. Not bad, huh? Only took two months."

Sam frowned, "Yeah, Cas, that's super, but…"

"One hundred dollars," Castiel turned back to Crowley, the glee on his face a level of terrifying that Lucifer didn't know his little brother could possess. "One hundred fucking dollars and then I don't owe you shit."

Crowley growled and put a hand on Castiel's back, pushing him lightly to the door. "Yeah, angel? Well, we'll see what you'll be saying in two hours."

And they were gone.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty as far as Crowley and Castiel went (how stupid could Lucifer have been not to know at that moment what was going on?), but Lucifer was standing in front of Sam, and the younger boy looked back up at him without giving Castiel and Crowley a second thought. He didn't look angry or annoyed, but he didn't look particularly comfortable to be found alone in the Church with a boy named for the devil.

Lucifer shook his head; no, Sam would never think that.

"So, what's up?"

Lucifer countered, "How was your date with Ruby?"

An uneasy chuckle escaped Sam's throat and Lucifer's mind started a chant of _ohshitno ohgodno._ But Sam and settled with a shrug, "It was fine, I guess."

"What happened?"

"We went to dinner. We went back to my house. Nothing big, really," Sam crossed his arm and shrugged again.

Lucifer's hands found Sam's shoulders, and if the younger boy was surprised at all by the gesture he didn't show it. "Did you take my advice, Sam? Did you sleep with her?"

There was a split second of terror on his face, before Sam offered an uneasy smile and said, "What kind of guy do you take me for? I never have sex on the first date." He scoffed, rolling his eyes, a more confident smile forming at whatever look Lucifer must be giving him. "I am a gentleman and a scholar."

One of Lucifer's hands snaked over the boy's shoulder and over his back, the other over his head, and he pulled Sam to his chest with a sigh of relief. Sam mumbled something, his fingers finding Lucifer's stomach and pushing away for a second, before they moved to his sides and took hold, latching onto him like he was going somewhere.

Sam breathed, a huge, content inhale that made Lucifer's head spin.

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I should have never asked that of you. And I promise, as long as I live, I'll never ask you to do anything you don't want to do again," Lucifer bowed his head, his face buried in the shorter boy's hair. "Never again, Sam. I'm sorry."

And Lucifer was certainly not a sexual deviant or a pervert, but also wasn't a liar. So if anyone asked, for the record, he did enjoy holding Sam against his chest, breathing in the smell of his hair. In fact, he couldn't think of anything else that he enjoyed more than that.

* * *

Castiel was not an expert in withdrawal. A lot of things before he started using drugs were blank. But the longer he was sober (two weeks!), and the more the physical signs of addiction went away, the more he had a growing suspicion that seeing demons was not a normal side effect of heroin.

For the most part, he tried shutting his eyes and thinking _theyarenotrealtheyarenotreal_ but when he opened his eyes, more often than not, they only changed in form. The demons didn't look like ape things with claws anymore, but instead he'd be talking to someone and their eyes would go black. Like a demon possessed the other person. The first time it happened, he was at the Church with Lucifer and Ruby was making Sam do sit-ups while she sat on his back. She turned and looked at him, grinned, and her eyes went black.

Castiel managed to handle that with all the grace he possessed – which was none – and he managed to knock over almost everything in his path as he ran screaming from the Church. It took Lucifer twenty minutes to find him hiding in the woods behind the Church and another fifteen to get him to talk about what he saw.

Lucifer got very serious then, listening with great care to every detail, before he was able to coax Castiel to come back inside. Sam and Ruby were gone when they got there.

With his sobriety, Castiel had a growing distrust of doctors – it was their fault for prescribing him a cocktail of Xanax, Prozac, and Adderall to begin with – but he sort of had the feeling that if this continued much longer, he'd have to talk to someone about it. He didn't mention every little demon sighting to Dean, but he did to Lucifer. His brother was the closest to a professional he knew; he was the only person Castiel knew who had spent time committed in a psych ward. That gave him some credentials, right?

That is, until he saw something he didn't want to share.

He was walking back from the club alone because Sam stayed behind to talk to Ruby. Castiel should have worn a thicker coat, but he wrapped his arms around himself, thinking that maybe they'd see the first snowfall of the season tonight.

Castiel walked with his head down all the way to the Winchesters' house. And he kept it down, until he reached out to touch the door handle and he heard a voice say, "Hello, Castiel," from the porch swing to his right. He turned and looked, even though he knew he shouldn't indulge the things he saw and he knew that voice too well to know it couldn't be anything other than a hallucination.

Or a vision.

Anna Novak was stunning. She was wearing a white summer dress that went to just past her knees. She was barefoot – she had always been barefoot in life – and the contrast of the white made her pale skin appear to glow golden. She was sitting on the edge of the swing, perched there, and her wings flew out behind her. The wings were auburn, a shade darker than her red hair, and she tilted her head to smile at her favorite son.

"How are things going, Castiel?"

Castiel bit his lip and turned. He should go inside. Nothing but pain would come from this – unless, she was real. She was dead, right? Dead souls don't become angels, but… maybe for his mom…

Castiel sat down on the swing next to his mother. "I am getting clean. I'm sorry I couldn't do so when you were alive."

"Oh, son, don't say things like that," Anna's hand fell over Castiel's, and suddenly he was warm. He smiled up at her. "It is so wonderful to hear your voice. It had been a long time since I'd heard it when I left to go home."

"You're an angel?"

Anna shook her head, "Not a real angel. We're allowed to look out for our living relatives, though, if we don't stray out of the boundaries. Have you found your father, yet?"

Castiel shook his head. How would he find him? He didn't have a clue. He probably wasn't even alive anymore. Apparently his mother could read his thoughts because she gripped his arm and said, "He is not dead, son. And it is very important you find him. So that he can explain it all to you. But tell me, what of your brothers?"

"They fight," Castiel said instantly. "Lucifer is doing okay, but Michael kicked him out. We don't live at home anymore."

Anna frowned, "Yes, that argument. And speaking of which, how is Dean?" The smile that overtook Anna's face was blinding. She crossed her legs and rested her chin in her hands, looking happy and giddy. "I remember he was a handsome boy. But how are you…"

"I would do anything for Dean," Castiel smiled, reaching out his hand to touch his mother again, hand sliding over her shoulder. She grinned at the contact, "He is wonderful. And I love him."

"Yeah, well, as much as I love to hear someone go on and on about how great I am, who in hell are you talking to, Cas?"

Castiel broke his eyes away from his mother to look at his boyfriend. He was starting to climb the steps of the house, but was looking past him toward Anna. When Castiel looked back, his mother was gone.

Tears sprang into his eyes, and Dean pulled him up from the swing and into a hug. He rubbed his hands over the smaller boy's arms, trying to warm him up. "Hey, Cas, it's okay. The drugs will be out of your system soon. You'll be fine."

" _Find Jimmy,"_ Castiel heard his mother's voice echo. He pushed his forehead into Dean's shoulder and started crying.

* * *

Some people become jerks on their birthday, like just because they were born they had some divine right to do whatever they wanted for that one day every year. And true, Dean took what he wanted almost every day, but he was extra insufferable on his birthday, at least to Sam.

Castiel indulged Dean. It was like the smaller boy was setting out to court his brother, but knew exactly how to do it before hand. There weren't any flowers, but someone had slipped an issue of Rolling Stone with Rush on the cover into his locker. When he got to lunch, a bacon cheeseburger from the local joint down the street was waiting for him, and during their chemistry lab, Castiel accidentally-on-purpose set off a tiny little explosion that was certainly not part of the lesson plan.

When Sam got home after work, Castiel was sitting neatly in Dean's lap, arms wrapped around his shoulders, kissing him lazily between murmurs. Sam didn't hear what he was saying, but he was certain it was all that perfect stuff Dean liked to hear by that schmoopy, dopey look of complete bliss on his face.

The best part was that Castiel was sober for the whole thing. And Sam knew that meant the world to Dean.

They did manage to separate for cake and ice cream. Lucifer somehow got invited to the party because he showed up a few minutes before Bobby did, mostly ignoring the birthday boy in favor of shooting an enamored look at the cake. John swatted his hand away from the frosting.

When Bobby showed up, they sang and ate. It wasn't until after, when Castiel was rubbing small circles on his thigh in front of God and all his family, that he realized that there wasn't a present in sight.

With the same superiority complex shared by sultans and kings, Dean leaned back, stretched his arm over his boyfriend and said, "Okay, bring on the gifts."

The others looked down, awkwardly, like they didn't understand the word _gifts_ and their very important impact on a birthday. Except Castiel and Lucifer, they looked at each other with twin head-tilts in confusion, before Castiel's blue eyes found Dean, and in complete seriousness asked, "gifts?"

"Uh… yeah, you know. Things you bought me to say how thankful you are to have me in your life. Sort of a _Thank God you were born, Dean_ type of thing," he had a hard time not clenching his teeth. "You know. Birthday presents."

Castiel's frown deepened and behind him, Lucifer crossed his arms over his chest. "I have given you many gifts today. I was very nice to you."

Dean looked at Sam for help, but his brother shrugged.

Lucifer took that moment to clarify, "We never got presents on our birthdays. You get people presents? That's a thing?" He scoffed and elbowed Sam's side with a playful smile forming on his lips. "Remind me when I'm speaking to Michael again that he owes me almost nineteen years worth of crap."

Dean looked to Bobby and John, but both of them mimicked Sam and shrugged. Dean was about to explode. He was all but ready to push Castiel away from him and stomp upstairs like a bratty teenager when he took a breath and closed his eyes. He didn't like it – not one bit – but he supposed he did get something from each of them already. His dad was home and doing awesome at sobriety (Castiel was still paying back Crowley for that), Bobby gave him beer.

He was sure if he thought long and hard about it, Lucifer had given him something more than trouble. Well, if nothing else, at least a couple of good parties.

"Okay," Dean whispered, opening his eyes and forcing a smile. "Okay."

Castiel smiled, his fingers touching Dean's cheek lightly, but the others started laughing. Dean was so convinced they were laughing at the affection that he almost started swearing until he noticed Castiel move his chin to look at him, and his smile was more of a grin.

"Of course we got you something, Dean. We left them at Bobby's shop."

It took no time for the entourage to enter the shop, (Bobby had said, "Why can't you ever get here like that when you're supposed to be working?"), and Dean found a large box neatly wrapped next to the Impala. He raced to his Baby – he heard Castiel following after him – and tore the paper off the box. Then tore the lid off that sucker like he was searching for treasure.

There were a lot of smaller boxes unwrapped inside it.

He pulled out box after box, eyes skipping over titles and model numbers, eyes growing wide with the possibilities. "It should be about everything you need," Bobby said. "To get her running finally."

Dean turned to look at the men behind him – his friends, his family – and he didn't know what to say to their smiles. Bobby and John both looked like pleased fathers. Sam was giving him the opposite of the bitchface – a look of rare affection, love, and simpleminded happiness that Dean hadn't bothered to name it yet. Even Lucifer had an elbow on Sam's shoulder, leaning in to him, giving Dean a look he'd give his own brother, or maybe not. It was certainly a look of easy friendship, and Dean wasn't sure when he became friends with a gang leader.

"Thank you," Dean said to them. "It's perfect."

"It was Cas' idea," Sam said, gesturing to the boy next to Dean. "He figured if we pooled our money, we'd have nearly enough to get everything. Some put in a little more than others, but I'll _pay you back_." He added roughly, shooting a look at the boy leaning on him.

Lucifer shrugged, giving a look of pure affection aimed in Sam's direction, "There is no debt between us. I live to serve." Then he turned to the older Winchester, grinning, "Happy nineteenth birthday, Dean. I'll join you shortly."

The others echoed the birthday sentiments, and Bobby and John went to the front room to talk business. Castiel got on his knees next to Dean, picking up a box and reading the back of it like he could understand by just reading. Understand how to put a car together or understand how much this car meant to Dean.

He caught his boyfriend by the cheek and angled his chin so he was looking up at him. Castiel offered a smile, but Dean shook his head, "How much did all of this cost you?"

"Me more than others," he shrugged. "Lucifer put it quite a bit too, but not more than we were willing to give. We still have money to eat, if that's what you're asking."

"That's not what I'm asking, Cas. This… this is a lot. You've done a lot for me in the past four months, you know that? I don't think can ever repay you."

"It isn't about repayment, Dean. What's mine is yours and that's how it'll always be," Castiel offered the box he was holding in his hand. "Would you show me where this goes?"

"Cas…"

"If it bothers you so much, I can offer something as payment," Castiel added, and Dean nodded. Anything. "When you get done with her, will you give me a ride?"

Dean smiled, full of teeth and pride, and said, "You have no idea the things I'll do to you in her when she's finished." And he pulled Castiel in, kissing him with a little more force than he intended.

When they broke apart, Castiel went on reading the package, before he turned and looked at Dean. The older boy looked at the part he had in his hand, expecting him to ask a question and started offering an answer when Castiel touched his hand, running his smooth fingers over Dean's calloused ones.

"Happy birthday, Dean."

"Thanks, Cas."

* * *

**Part II: I Just Can't Deny**

Dean's birthday was January 24th, and just seven days later, on the last day in January, everything changed.

It all started during Castiel's lunch period.

Castiel had been sober of drugs for three weeks and four days, which, for a first attempt at sobriety, was really amazing. Most people don't last the first week, let alone the first three, especially one who didn't want to get clean in the first place. At least after three weeks, everything wasn't so dark. He still thought about heroin and cocaine. A lot. Every day, every hour of every day, but not every minute. That was better than it used to be, so he had to take every small victory and every small step forward.

There were certainly appealing things about sobriety.

Castiel had never noticed how Sam couldn't sing harmonies to save his life. He always opted to sing the melody, and even when he tried harmonizing, he couldn't. Sam had taken a liking to Alkaline Trio – Lucifer's favorite band – and with as many CDs as they had out, they could cook dinner listening to the band every night and never make it through their entire discography. Castiel offered to teach him about harmonies, and they were working on it, but it was a slow process that resulted in more laughing than decent singing. But he noticed small things in Sam that made him a true joy to be around – it was easy to see why his brother had fallen for him.

Lucifer, he noticed, had crow's feet at his eyes already. His brother was exceptionally handsome, especially when he laughed and the crow's feet danced; Castiel thought perhaps that's why girls flocked to him. But his macho act – so much like Dean's – was a façade. His brother still cried a lot at night, still curled the teddy bear in his arms, and whispered to Castiel about the things he saw – things he'd never told anyone about before. And it was one of the most heartbreaking things about being sober. He could see the pain his brother had lived with his entire life – he was starting to understand, even though he hadn't told him about seeing their dead mother yet – but the way he could hide it so well behind a smile that seemed so genuine was truly heartbreaking.

But the best thing about being sober was Dean. And despite his arrogant, self-entitled personality, he had a hero complex a mile wide and still had trouble asking for help. Despite months, and despite everything Castiel had done for him, he still had trouble accepting that he deserved it. Dean and Lucifer were so much alike, Castiel almost wondered if there was a version of the Oedipus Complex with a person's brother, instead of his mother. But Castiel was sure he was in love with Dean before he noticed the similarities – before he noticed his brother at all – that he wasn't too worried about the implications.

When Castiel was high, he didn't notice the shade of Dean's eyes and how they seemed to vary based on his _mood_. He didn't notice the freckles that spotted his nose, and he certainly never knew that Dean was self-conscious about them, going so far as to bat Castiel's hand away and turn red when Castiel started tracing the dots with his thumb. And sex. Dean once told Castiel that he thought about the ecstasy and Adderall he gave him at the party and how great sex must be on it, but sex was so amazing sober.

Every time Dean brushed his fingers down Castiel's side, every time a kiss was placed on his chest or neck, every time Dean stopped just to look up at his boyfriend – every time he _remembered_. He wasn't bouncing in his head, going after carnal pleasure. Not that they didn't have their carnal moments; they still did, but even those were blessed with a pure love that was so obvious, so evident – that Castiel couldn't believe he couldn't see it when he was high. That he would get mad when Dean wouldn't _say_ it, when he never needed to say it. It was there and it never had to be said.

"So are you seeing demons or you thinking about me fucking you?" A tray slammed on the table, and Castiel bowed his head, picking up a chicken finger and dipping it in ketchup.

"Neither," He responded. "You think about it enough for the both of us, I'm sure."

Crowley grinned at him, opening his milk carton with far too much elegance. Like he was better than all of this. And once, before Castiel got sober, he would have agreed. Crowley was better than Lawrence. But one thing sobriety made clear more than anything was how completely wrong this situation – this _Deal_ – was. And it killed him: it ate him alive to know that in a weak moment when he was nearly overdosing, he thought of getting money from Crowley and offering his body. If he had been sober then… If only he had been sober then.

They ate, for a moment, in silence.

The two boys had taken to eating lunch together less than a week after Castiel's sobriety. He had never said anything to Crowley about it, but once Castiel stopped showing up to get high during his lunch period, the older boy went looking for his whore. The lunch room was the last place he expected to find him, and the last place he looked.

Castiel had put on fifteen pounds in three weeks. Crowley admitted that he was starting to look human again.

But despite the rage he felt at Crowley for agreeing to the Deal – because in Castiel's weakest, most desperate moment, Crowley _agreed_ and they were supposed to be _friends_ – he couldn't exactly blame Crowley, either. If the roles were mixed up and Dean would only sleep with him for money, Castiel was almost positive he'd do anything to have him, even conditionally, even if it made Dean hate him in the end.

And for that, a part of him didn't hate Crowley.

Because he wouldn't want Dean to hate him.

"So, I know we've been avoiding this –"

" _You've_ been avoiding this."

"– but as Dexter says, 'tonight's the night.' I mean, you deserve it, to wash your hands of me. And I won't tell him. I promise."

Castiel was sure that was the closest he would ever get to an apology for this, so he took it and forgave Crowley of his human weakness.

"But… But, angel… Castiel… just, please. Let's get high tonight. It's different, okay, when you're just drunk," Castiel looked up at Crowley, but he was using a tatter tot to paint a picture in ketchup on his tray. "Just, this is… It means a lot to me, Castiel. All of this has meant a lot to me. And I just want one more…" Crowley sighed. "For our last time…"

There were a lot of great things about being sober. A lot. But an addict is always chasing that first high. An addict is always, kind of, an addict. And it's not like Castiel hadn't thought about it. Every hour of every day.

And maybe every minute too.

And he had been sober for three weeks and four days, and he hadn't slipped yet. He was a recovering junkie. He deserved one slip.

Castiel held up his milk carton, and Crowley looked at him with a sad, confused look on his face. So Castiel smiled and said, "Let's celebrate the end of this, then."

And despite it being the end, Crowley smiled too, held up his milk carton, and clinked the cardboard together.

* * *

After his birthday, Castiel wouldn't tell Dean how much he spent on the parts for his Baby. He'd stopped keeping track of Castiel's earnings almost as soon as it got over three hundred dollars because it meant they weren't going to starve in the next week or two and that was good enough for Dean.

But that trip to Florida resulted in two grand, Dean remembered him saying, and he'd been selling for a month after that. So his total in the envelope should have been $3600 at least, but he only had four hundred in there. A hundred of that he owed Crowley, and Dean was feeling guilty.

But he hadn't mentioned anything to Castiel about counting his profits. After all, he left them in the jar where all of them (even John had an envelope now. Bobby went through his books and found enough money to hire John back if Dean cut back a few days a week. Dean was getting sick of spending all his time in the shop anyway, and his father was overjoyed) kept their money and anyone could snoop, so it wasn't like he wasn't allowed to snoop.

Still, he felt guilty about snooping.

Castiel handed in their lab reports as he walked into chemistry, then took his usual seat in the back next to Dean. He looked mildly upset, but also kind of happy – sober Castiel was usually stoic but Dean had a ton of time learning his small tells – so he asked his boyfriend what was up.

"I'm going to pay Crowley back the last hundred tonight."

"Hey, that's great," Dean whispered, his hand finding Castiel's thigh under their table. His boyfriend shot him a look that begged _not now_ , and Dean bit back a comment that if he were high, he'd do it. Instead he said, "I'll pay you back for it."

"That won't be necessary, Dean. I would give anything for you, and besides, I find I enjoy having your father around. He is so unlike my own that… I just like your father."

Dean chuckled, and Castiel winced. He was still hyper aware of his speech patterns when he was sober and he told Dean that kids used to pick on him. He squeezed his boyfriend's thigh again, to let him know he wasn't laughing at the way he said it. That shit didn't matter to Dean. Except that sometimes he didn't understand the words Castiel used in the particular order he used them.

And sometimes, Dean still wasn't always 100% convinced Castiel was actually speaking English.

They were quiet until lab started. Castiel rocked the nerd look with the protective goggles, but Dean hated seeing everything through the scratchy lens. He spent a lot of the time facing away from the experiment with the goggles on his forehead. "So you got the money on you, or do you want to walk home with me to get it?"

"What?" Castiel asked, eyes not leaving the dorky experiment in front of him. Dean looked around the room, spotting the various people in it. Everyone was paired off, except for Lisa Braedon.

Dean called out to her, "Where's your geeky lab geek?"

She smiled back at him, a beautiful thing that would have taken Dean by storm four months earlier. "His name is _Chuck_ , Dean, and he just went to the bathroom for a minute. Are you the bathroom police, now?"

Dean crossed his arms and grinned at her, "So what if I am?"

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and Castiel looked mildly annoyed. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd say he finally made Castiel jealous. Until the boy repeated his earlier question, and Dean frowned a bit. "You got money on you?"

"No."

"Then I guess you're walking home with me," Dean leaned back against the counter. "Don't worry, you'll just get there and get Crowley's money and leave. I've got work so we won't have time for what you're thinking, anyway."

"Oh," Castiel said, frowning, like he just understood something. Then he looked back up at Dean at the mention of time that they apparently didn't have and said, _"Oh."_

"I am not a meat-suit, Castiel," Dean turned toward the experiment and lowered his goggles with a grin. "You can't just use me whenever the need _arises_ in you. Stop objectifying me."

Dean couldn't see well through his scratched up glasses, but he _heard_ Castiel gulp, and that was good enough for him.

They walked home together, and the closer they got to the Winchester's house, the more anxious Castiel seemed to become. Dean asked him about it twice, but his boyfriend shrugged, said he was excited to finally pay Crowley back, and left it at that.

Dean went upstairs to change. Castiel went to the kitchen.

They reconvened a moment later in the living room. Castel had his hands in his pockets, and Dean put his hands on the boy's cheeks to draw him in for a goodbye kiss. If only either of them knew what would happen in the next 24 hours, they would have made something of it. They should have made something of it. Instead, Dean pulled away and Castiel smiled, one hand running over Dean's chest, the other stayed in his pocket.

"I'll see you tomorrow at school," Castiel sighed, a gentle, adoring smile donning his features.

"Aw, you won't be back?" Dean whined, but Castiel just shook his head, repeated _tomorrow_ , kissed Dean one last time, and walked out the door.

It was a Thursday, and Dean would be getting paid today. He had a few minutes to kill, so he walked back to the cupboard and pulled out the can with their money. He counted the money with his name on it, quick to add what he would make in his mind, and was satisfied with how much he'd saved. Especially now that his envelope was the thickest.

Something made him pause when he shoved his envelope between his brother's and his boyfriend's. It was like he was possessed when he drew Castiel's envelope out of the can and counted the money resting inside.

 _Four hundred dollars_.

Dean frowned, excuses pouring into his head – he must have added more money since he checked on the funds last night, he must have… he must have… - but he shoved the money back in the envelope, put the envelope back in the can, and put the can back in the cupboard.

Something was wrong.

Castiel didn't lie to him – not really – but the boy did withhold information, spinning _technical_ truths in the letter of the law, but not in the spirit. _I didn't tell you I was selling or taking drugs because you didn't ask._

At this point, Dean was getting pretty good at seeing what Castiel was hiding. When the answer jumped into his mind, he grabbed his keys and slammed the door, jogging to the shop. Bobby told him that there wasn't much to do today – they'd be able to spend an hour or so working on the Impala – but Dean couldn't shake it. He couldn't shake that Castiel certainly wasn't telling him the whole truth.

 _I told you I was paying Crowley back; I didn't tell you_ how _I was paying him because you didn't ask._

* * *

Crowley was like a virgin on prom night, and it was ridiculous because they'd done this how many times before? The correct answer should be _nine_ , but they had spent nine nights together. Sometimes, it was one and done and Castiel was crawling back to Dean. Other nights, it was an entire affair.

The British teen lit a match, and then lit the candle, shaking out the match with a little too much force.

A balloon wrapper sat in front of him – blue, like Castiel's eyes – and a needle the boy had left here months ago. Castiel was the only one to use it. That meant a lot to Castiel, and it meant more to Crowley that the younger boy would ever know. He drew lines of cocaine and hoped his parents wouldn't take a sudden interest in him and come down after they got back from dinner. They were home now – would be until the three of them went back to London over February break. They'd be leaving the 15th, and Crowley and his mother would fly back the 23rd while his dad stayed on business.

They wouldn't come down here. They never had before.

Castiel knocked on his window, like he hadn't done it a thousand times, but let himself in a few seconds later. He never came sober, and Crowley could feel how awkward this was as he stood with his back to the boy. A second later, the feeling died down a little bit, and Castiel approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," Castiel said, and Crowley wiped his face in his hands before he turned to face him. "Thanks for loaning me the money. I mean, the situation was regrettable, but I understand. I do. And I hope that we could be friends again after this. Like we were before."

This was certainly break-up sex. Crowley looked away again, but his voice broke when he said, "I'd like that," and Castiel would have to know he was lying.

He kind of expected Castiel to pause over the drugs, he was supposed to be three plus weeks sober, but he was a whore for it. He wrapped the tourniquet around his arm like it was second nature, and if he didn't know better, he thought the boy was salivating. "Where is Growley?" He asked as he dumped the packet of heroin in the spoon and put it over the fire.

"Aziraphale's over there," Crowley nodded to the couches, and when Castiel looked, the puppy was asleep in the corner of the two couches. "He won't bother us. I'm training him."

"Oh," the drug was in the needle, and Castiel's hungry eyes were as wide as saucers as he pushed the bubbles out. He looked at Crowley for a moment, and Crowley noticed he was shaking, sweaty, already starting the withdrawal process over. "I shouldn't do this."

"There are a lot of things you shouldn't have done."

Castiel hovered the needle over his arm, his left hand finding Crowley's on the bar and sliding their fingers together. The needle remained lined up. "I wonder," Castiel licked his lips, "if I want the heroin more or less than you want me."

He wasn't trying to be cruel, Crowley had to remind himself. Castiel wasn't ever cruel until the drugs were in him. The things he'd say. Oh, God. Instead, Crowley shut his eyes, pulling his hand away to brush over his eyes again.

"It's okay. Just a little pinprick" Castiel said, voice low. Crowley opened his eyes to see the boy push the needle in his arm and shoot the drug until his vein. "There'll be no more _ahhh._ "

"But you may feel a little sick. Angel, while I love Pinky as much as any other Brit, but that pinprick is about Narcan, not her–"

Castiel tottered on the stool, hands gripping at the bar to stabilize himself, but he tilted his head back, bearing his throat as a wild bark of laughter escaped his throat before he erupted in giggles.

"Omi-fucking- _God_ that is good," Castiel's fingers went wide, then contracted over the bar again, fingernails scratching at the wood. "Whose stupid idea was it for me to give up drugs, again?"

Crowley just smiled and held out a rolled up Benjamin, "Ready for dessert?"

"You first," Castiel sighed, blowing out the candle, putting the cap back on the needle, pulling off the tourniquet and licking the blood pooling in his arm. Crowley watched as the synapses fired all over Castiel's body. He twitched, he writhed, and when his mouth closed over the wound and started sucking the blood, he moaned. Jesus, Crowley wasn't going to last long tonight.

He did two lines, and when he handed the bill over this time, Castiel took it, pressed his side into Crowley as he leaned over and inhaled a line for himself. When it was gone, he set the dollar on the table and leaned his head against Crowley's chest, sighing contently.

Crowley put his hand on the boy's head.

"So what do you want to do tonight," Castiel asked. It was a whore's line, but it didn't sound the same. It was their last time. They used to be friends. And when Castiel leaned back, resting his elbow on the bar and his head in his hand, giving Crowley a doped up, lazy smile, Crowley thought that maybe _just maybe_ Castiel wanted to please him as much as Crowley wanted to please Castiel.

Crowley's hand slipped behind Castiel's neck, and he pulled him in. They could take their time; they could enjoy it. They had all night.

* * *

Sam got home around quarter after eight, full of stupid smiles that probably meant Ruby was at Lucifer's. Dean didn't know why his brother was hiding the girl – she was hot and older, everything a fifteen year old would usually brag about – but he kept insisting nothing was happening and Dean had given up on the kid for now.

"How was Luci?" Dean called from the kitchen. Sam's iPod dock lay abandoned on the counter – Dean had gone through the trouble of digging out an 8-Track player rather than deal with modern technology. Sam came in the kitchen with a doped-up-on-love smile and he washed his hands before helping Dean peel potatoes for dinner.

"Good today," Dean abandoned the potatoes into Sam's more capable hands and started doing the dishes he'd already dirtied. "A minor freak out before I got there, but we mostly sat around and played guitar."

"You both played?"

"Well, he played. I watched. He's sort of teaching me, a bit."

Dean shot a look over his shoulder at his brother, "You watched a dude play guitar for three hours? Well, gee, Samantha, why don't you just let him get to second base if you're willing to…"

Sam's finger slipped on the potato, jabbing the knife into his thumb. Blood welled from the wound – but it didn't look deep. Sam just hip-checked Dean from in front of the faucet and ran his thumb under the water.

Dean leaned against the counter. His and Castiel's relationship had based on a mutual don't-ask-don't-tell policy. Not that Dean was ever the one not telling. But they were supposed to have full disclosure now. That hundred bucks he didn't take to Crowley was eating away at him.

So he cleared his throat and asked the question he actually cared to hear the answer to. "So how's Cas?"

Sam held his thumb up out of the water, studying it. When blood was still seeping from the slice, he shut the water off and went to the drawer to get a band-aid. "Cas?"

"Yeah, about five-ten, dark hair, blue eyes. He's been over once or twice. Duh, Sam. Cas."

Sam turned to face his brother, drying off his hands, and then placing the band-aid over the wound. "Yeah, I know who your boyfriend is, dumbass, I meant how would I know how he is?"

"Isn't he staying at the Church tonight?" Dean's hand found the counter, his other clenched into a fist around the bottom of his t-shirt.

Sam shrugged, "Wasn't there when I got there. Have you tried to text him?"

"No," Dean scoffed. He wasn't going to do that again. Last time his brother tried to kill himself and Dean looked like an obsessive, controlling asshole. "I'm sure everything's fine."

Sam hummed a sound of agreement, before the hum switched to something else – a song Lucifer might be trying to learn how to play – and his brother shifted from foot to foot as he cut the potatoes. Dean started walking into the living room, annoyed and sort of worried, but Sam called out to him and he stopped.

"He's at Crowley's, I bet," Sam started cutting the potatoes into thin strips, and apparently they were going to fry them, not mash them like Dean had planned. "Lucifer says they haven't hung out much since Cas got clean. Don't worry. He'll show up somewhere."

Dean just kept walking, muttering to himself about there being a _reason_ why Castiel hadn't seen Crowley since he got sober. Now he had an even worse feeling about it.

* * *

When Dean woke up the next morning, he had one new text message.

 **Castiel:** I fell off the wagon =( I'm sorry, Dean. I won't let you down again.

Truth be told, Dean wasn't surprised. He couldn't sleep last night, worrying what his boyfriend could be getting up to with his former dealer, and the message didn't really surprise him. He sighed, rubbed his hand over his face, and figured that they'd start the detox over after school. Maybe since he only used it once (he only used it once, right?) it would be easier on his body. Going cold turkey shouldn't almost kill him this time.

Then he noticed the timestamp (3:12 am) and he felt like he was going to be sick. He tried to rationalize it – he texted him from Lucifer's, he just crashed on Crowley's couch. No big deal. They were friends. They'd been friends long before Dean came into the picture.

But suddenly images flocked into his head. Crowley touching him at the football game. The pictures from Florida on Facebook that Sam finally showed him after Castiel got clean.

That time at the Halloween party when Dean was playing that game, and he looked over, and the look in Crowley's eye when he was explaining the water thing to his boyfriend… the look…

 **Dean:** where r u?

He waited five minutes, then got in the shower. No response. Halfway to the school, Dean checked his phone again. Nothing. Sam said goodbye when they reached the front of the school, and ran to catch up with Gabriel. Nothing. He was getting ready to start a man hunt when his phone vibrated in his hand.

 **Castiel:** Leaving now. Be there in five.

It did not take five minutes to walk from the Church to the school.

Dean did what any normal, logical person would do in this situation. He crossed the street and sat down near the edge of the parking lot. The cars would cover him in either direction – not that Castiel would look over here for him – and he waited.

And as he waited, he confronted that sinking feeling in his chest. That feeling he got when a few weeks after his mother died, he realized she was never coming home. That feeling he got the first two times John disappeared – and the same feeling he got when John would come back and attempt sobriety for a week or two. The feeling he got when Sam got letters from Stanford, thanking him for his interest in a college nearly two thousand miles away.

Abandonment. Complete fucking dread.

Because of course, of course the best fucking thing that had ever happened to Dean was a lie. It was probably a game – make the stupid poor kid fall in love with him. Like _She's All That_ or _Cruel Intentions_ and Castiel was sure to make a butt-ton of money, if that's what this was even about. Or maybe it was just for the chase. Maybe it was just for the fun of it and Castiel and Crowley were laughing at him.

Because he got it, okay? He didn't deserve Castiel anyway. So this had to have been a prank. Someone like Castiel would never go for someone like Dean.

But he tried to rationalize.

Crowley was his friend. Crowley was his friend before he started dating Dean. Crowley didn't love his boyfriend. And more than any of that – all of that didn't matter – because Castiel _loved_ Dean. Even if he walked up with Crowley, that didn't prove anything. Castiel fucking loved Dean and he would never, ever cheat on him.

Lucifer went jogging past alone and sprinted in the building like he was late for something.

Thirty-two seconds later, Castiel and Crowley walked on to the campus. Castiel had his hands clenched around the straps of his backpack and the British teen was walking a respectable distance away. Neither of them had shaved, and Castiel looked like he was starting to get the shakes. Like he fell off the wagon last night, but got back on this morning. Like he meant what he said about not letting Dean down. And Dean breathed a huge fucking sigh of relief, lifted his head, and thanked God.

His knees were still shaking. That's the only reason he didn't stand up and greet the boys. The bell rang, and students flocked outside. Crowley lit a cigarette, even though he wasn't supposed to smoke on school property, and he held it out to Castiel. They stopped walking nearly level with where Dean sat, sharing the cigarette in a little alley that separated the old wing from the new wing. They were hidden on either direction – only able to be seen from straight on.

Where Dean was sitting.

Castiel checked his phone, thumbed something, and slipped it back in his pocket. Crowley said something to him, dropping the butt on the ground and stomping it out. Castiel shook his head. Dean felt his phone vibrate.

 **Castiel:** Where are you?

Crowley seemed to be upset, but whatever he was saying was too quiet for Dean to hear. Castiel checked his phone again, and Crowley snapped. He grabbed the hand with the phone and pinned it above Castiel's head. Dean stood up and went to cross the street, but a car went by.

Crowley held up one finger, looking desperate – begging. Dean froze.

And Dean's boyfriend sighed, before lifting up his other hand – the hand that was closest to the opening of the alley – and running his thumb over Crowley's jaw. Gently – that's the worst fucking part, it was so _gentle_ – Castiel's fingers found the back of Crowley's neck, and he pulled him in.

Their mouths touched. It took Dean another moment to realize that they were kissing.

Another car went by, and by the time it was past, Crowley was gone. Castiel was resting his back against the wall, looking down at the mud puddle he was standing in.

Dean was at him eight quick steps.

When Castiel heard him approaching he turned his head – he turned his head, breathed a sigh of fucking relief, and smiled – and that was all Dean could take. He ducked away, took a step back, out into the light, before Castiel could touch him. His boy… no _the boy_ followed him out, frowning at Dean like he didn't understand. Like he had no fucking clue what he did to deserve that repulsion.

"Dean…"

"You…" Dean was shaking. For February first, Dean was sweating. His face burned and his eyes stung. He took a step back. He needed more space. He couldn't breathe. "... you and Crowley?"

The smaller boy winced in pain, but his eyes grew wide. His hands reached for Dean again, but when he saw Dean's reflexive step back, he lowered his arms and hugged them around his chest.

"I was paying him back," Castiel was quiet, drawing the thin, tan coat around him like a shield. He looked small again – so much smaller than when he was at his worse with the drugs – he looked ready to consume himself.

"Paying him back with your fucking _mouth_?"

Castiel winced and tears sprang from his eyes and fell down his cheeks. "Among other things."

Dean's heels were at the edge of the sidewalk. One more step and he'd be in the road, but he froze, trying to decipher the clue. He was sick of Castiel's clues. Sick of his half-truths which were nothing but lies painted up to look cleaner.

"What does that even mean?"

Castiel sighed and looked down. He was trembling, and Dean wanted to hold him. He wanted to forget it, forget what he saw, forget he even asked.

"We needed that thousand dollars, Dean, to get your dad out of jail. And Crowley gave me the money, but to pay him back… he didn't want money, Dean. He has money. He wanted what… Dean… he…" Castiel dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and let out a pitiful cry. "He wanted _me_ , okay?"

Dean stepped off the curb, and if this were one of those stupid teen movies, he probably would have gotten hit by a car. Or a bus. Like some stupid writer couldn't figure out how the story should end, so let's send in an automobile as a deus ex machina. Solves all the problems.

But this wasn't one of those movies, and as much as Dean wished a car would put him out of his misery, he had always had really unfortunate luck.

Castiel looked like he was waiting for him to say something, so he said the first and only thing that came to mind, "You let him fuck you for money? You… you _cheated_ on me for money?"

"It was what he wanted for repayment. I asked you, Dean. I asked you if you wanted me to get the money. You told me yes."

"Don't be so Machiavellian!" Dean shouted, pointing a finger at the boy. "You should know that everything is conditional. Yes does not mean by any means necessary. This isn't the sixteenth century, and that's not how life is played anymore."

They were quiet for a few more seconds before Castiel offered another excuse. Because that's all they were, excuses. "I almost overdosed that day. You don't remember? I was so… out of it when I made that deal. I never went to him sober, Dean. Never. It never meant…" Castiel was shaking, and he couldn't meet Dean's eye. The reality was sinking in – their unavoidable fate – and he was panicking.

"I just wanted to help. I just… and my mind, in my mind that was so logical, at the time. It was the least I could do for you, and everything you've…" Finally, Castiel stopped rambling and looked up at Dean, begging him. Begging him to listen, to forgive. "My mind, Dean. It's…"

Dean threw up his arms. "Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas!"

"Dean, let me…"

"No, this isn't like the selling drugs or the taking drugs. You can't clean up this mess. Not this time, Cas," but that sounded strange on his tongue, so he corrected, "Castiel," but even that sounded too familiar. Too much like friends. "Just… no, okay? I can't do this. I can't… we aren't…" He held up his hands in surrender and walked back up onto the curb. He walked around Cas in an arch, never letting their bodies get within a three foot radius of each other.

He turned around to start walking in the school when he heard the sound. A wail – but that wasn't the right word for it. Even years later, Dean wasn't sure a word in the English language could accurately describe the sound, but it was a lament so full of rage, Dean stopped in his tracks. When he dared a look behind him, Castiel was gripping his chest, looking up at the sky in confusion.

"We're breaking up," Castiel said at last, like it wanted to be a question, but it wasn't. A statement. Like he just knew.

He looked at Dean, shoulders heaving with exhausted breaths. He breathed two; three more times, eyes fluttering, like he was trying to control his body and not pass out. He lowered himself to the sidewalk, staring at a spot on the cement. He was gone, then. And it was going to be a really long time before Dean ever really saw him again.

Dean walked into the school, got a late pass from the office, and walked into his first period class.

* * *

**Part III: Letting Go**

Lucifer knew something was wrong a long time before he felt the hand on his elbow. He thought maybe he'd been staring – he got like that sometimes, when he saw things – and Sam was trying to politely snap him out of it. When he looked up and saw his younger brother, he knew he had to get him out of the lunch room.

Sam mentioned Dean was pissy, but the older Winchester hadn't enlightened his brother about what was bothering him. One look at Castiel, and Lucifer knew. He fucking knew, and he had to get him out of here. Sam frowned, sensing something, but Lucifer grabbed his brother's elbow and pulled him to the bathroom down the hall.

Castiel was broken.

The second they were in the room, Lucifer wrapped his arms around the smaller boy. Castiel didn't respond, didn't wrap his arms back around, didn't cry, didn't even close his eyes. Lucifer pushed him back, holding him an arm's length away.

"What happened?"

Castiel looked at him like he hadn't even heard the question.

Lucifer swallowed around the lump in his throat. This was bad. This was really, really, bad. Lucifer recognized that look from pictures of himself a few months before his dad left. Right before he got committed.

"Hey, um… I'm going to grab my bag, okay? Then I'm taking you home. Don't – look at me, brother – don't _do_ anything, okay? I'll be right back."

But when he opened the door, Sam was standing out there with his backpack. The younger boy held it up, frowning around Lucifer, trying to get a look at his friend. Sam asked him something, probably along the lines of _what's wrong with him_ , but Lucifer couldn't answer that. Not really. The blond boy slipped his backpack on.

"He can't be here right now. I'm taking him back to the Church."

"I should tell Dean…"

"No," Lucifer paled, and Sam wasn't stupid. He narrowed his eyes, silently asking Lucifer for the information he wouldn't share. He couldn't share. Dean needed to tell his brother. Then hopefully, Sam could shed some light on the situation because Castiel wasn't talking and there was no fucking way Lucifer was going to march up to Dean, slam him against a locker, and demand answers. "Don't bother your brother. But, um… I'll see you at the fight tomorrow, alright?"

Lucifer went back into the bathroom to grab his little brother. When he dragged the boy past Sam, Castiel wouldn't meet his eye. He just kept staring down. Until they reached the front door, and he looked into the office, like he was going to sign out to cut school. Lucifer gave a tug on his hand, but Castiel sat in the middle of the hall and started digging in his backpack.

The older Novak tried to get him up without causing a scene. He even forced a _we're totally normal_ smile at Lisa when she walked out of the office. She waved, and Castiel stood up, looped his bag over his shoulder and held some papers out to her.

She took them, read over them, and asked, "Your and Dean's lab report?"

"Yeah," Lucifer put his hand on Castiel's elbow, dragging him toward the door. "He's got an appointment and he's going to miss class. You mind handing those in for him?"

"Sure thing," she smiled. "But why not just give them to Dean?"

"Thanks, Lisa," Lucifer called, then managed to shove Castiel out the door.

And Lucifer really thought he'd have more time before Sam showed up. A check of his phone let him know it was 3:45 – just enough time for Sam to get home, find Dean doing whatever a person does post-break up – and marched his way over here to... well, I suppose that depended on Dean's version of the story.

But Lucifer hated surprises. Thank God he'd had the common sense to dig around to find out what happened before Sam came over. If Castiel wasn't talking, (and confronting Dean was still not an option), someone had to know. His first call was to Crowley.

His younger brother hadn't moved from the spot on Lucifer's mattress for two hours. He doubted the other boy would notice if he wasn't there. He stepped out of the room, sat on the stairs leading to the ground floor, and called Crowley.

" _To what do I owe this pleasure, Luci?"_ Crowley was walking home. He could hear it in the way he breathed.

"Castiel and Dean broke up," Lucifer muttered quietly, so Castiel couldn't hear him. "Why?"

" _They fucking broke up?"_ And Lucifer didn't really like tone of excitement in the other boy's voice.

But in a few minutes he got the story. Castiel had been sleeping with Crowley for money for the past two months (half of Dean and his relationship. HALF!) – his fucking stupid high as fuck little brother and his poor life decisions – and Dean must have found out. Castiel must have tried to tell him.

"Does he love you?" Lucifer had whispered.

Crowley sighed, _"I don't think he hated me – or hated it – but I think he hated himself for not hating it. He was always high or drunk, Luce. He doesn't love me. He just loves that fucking Winchester too much for his own good."_

"Lucifer!" the front door banged open, and the boy in question whispered a goodbye. He heard a scrambling in the bedroom and hoped Castiel had enough sense to stay hidden.

Lucifer climbed the steps to meet the boy, leaning casually on the wall when he got to the open area. "Well, hello, Sam."

"Where's Castiel?" Sam started at him, shaking with fury, and Lucifer wondered how much Dean told him. That Castiel slept with Crowley for them – to get their dad out of jail – or just that he slept with Crowley. Cheated. And Lucifer hated cheating – commit and stay faithful or don't commit, simple as that – but this wasn't simple as that. It really wasn't. This wasn't as black and white as that.

Sam tried to walk past him, guessing where the senior would hide his brother, but Lucifer caught him by the bicep and pulled him back into the room. When he let go, he was between Sam and the path downstairs.

"Did he tell you what he did to my brother?" Sam spat.

"For your brother," Lucifer corrected, crossing his arms across his chest. "And while I certainly don't agree that it was the wisest of decisions, I think his heart was in the right place."

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you?" Sam crossed his arms too. His biceps were huge compared to what they used to be, but he was still distinctively smaller than Lucifer, in height, in weight, and in overall muscle mass. Lucifer wasn't thinking about fighting Sam – he _loved_ Sam; the thought of hurting him made him sick – but he would step between Sam and Castiel every time. "Isn't the road to you _paved_ with good intentions?"

Lucifer inhaled, but didn't think he gave away how hard those words stung. But he must have been fooling himself because Sam deflated. His hard, set eyes turned softer, a hand reached out to touch the older boy's chest. Lucifer set his jaw then tried to relax his face.

"I'm so sorry," Sam said. Smaller hands worked to pry Lucifer's arms from the fixed position at his chest. When his arms were at his sides, Sam looked back up at him, and his eyes were filled with tears. "I didn't mean that. I swear I didn't… It's just…"

"I can't let you near my brother," Lucifer whispered.

"I didn't mean that," Sam repeated, reaching out his hand to touch Lucifer again. Maybe his chest, or maybe his arm. But in the end, Sam dropped it, and looked up at the other boy, silently begging for his forgiveness.

Lucifer placed his hand on top of Sam's head, sighing at the spark that touching the boy sent through his body. Two halves made whole. Lucifer smiled. "I know you didn't. It's okay, Sam. I've heard worse."

"But not from _me_ ," Sam rushed at him, forehead hitting Lucifer's chest as he threw his arms around his back. Lucifer wondered, for a moment, if this feeling in his chest of warmth and light was what his younger brother felt whenever he was around Sam's older brother. No wonder Castiel was in such a state – if Lucifer ever had Sam and they broke up?

Sam was the only thing that kept him going some days. Burning in hell forever would be better than knowing he upset Sam. Living without him.

"Do you want to talk about them?" Lucifer mumbled into Sam's hair. The smaller body sighed, fingers trailing down to settle at the small of Lucifer's back, palms pressed flat, pressing their bodies impossibly closer. "What did Dean say?"

"Not much. They broke up and Cas cheated. I don't… I don't believe it."

"It's true," Lucifer stopped indulging. Well, not really. He just leaned up, so he wasn't breathing in Sam's hair like a creeper, and instead tucked a stray strand behind Sam's ear. Which was indulging to a different degree. But suddenly Sam was filled with rage again, and his fingers knotted in Lucifer's shirt.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"He did it for a reason, Sam. He loved your brother. It wasn't for dissatisfaction or anything. You needed money to bail out your father. Crowley had money, and he wanted sex. Castiel was willing to trade that for the two of you."

"I said I didn't want to talk about it," Sam said again, trying for a growl, but it sounded like a whisper.

"I'm not saying it was right, Sam. It wasn't. But it deserves some consideration, and I think forgiveness," Lucifer pried himself from the younger boy, putting his thumb under Sam's chin, and guiding his face to look at him.

"Lucifer…"

"You're fighting Jake tomorrow, for the grand prize. And I've seen Azazel whispering to him. He won't be an easy fight."

Sam stood up, completely removing himself from Lucifer. The loss of the body left Lucifer cold and wanting, but he ignored it and pushed on. "You need to get inside his head from the beginning, okay? And Alistair and Azazel just want a good show. That's all they want."

Sam frowned for a minute, before he shook his head, dead serious and said, "There're 24 of us, Gale; only one comes out."

Lucifer laughed so hard, he had to clench Sam's shoulder to stay upright. Sam was smiling too, when Lucifer regained composure and looked up at him. Pale blue met hazel, and Lucifer was suddenly serious again.

"I mean it, Sam. You need to get to him before the fight. He's bigger than you, and stronger. But you're smarter than him. So keep your eyes open and walk in the Trap tomorrow like you're the Girl on Fire. You need to psych him out."

Sam thought about it for a second, and then reached his hand out, tracing an arch over Lucifer's heart, like he suddenly had an idea. "Don't worry about it. I've got this."

Lucifer wasn't sure how much longer he and Sam talked before the younger boy left, and Lucifer went back to his room to check on his brother. When he got there, the window hatch was open, and his brother was gone.

* * *

I knocked on Sam's apartment door a little hesitantly, even though I had done it a handful of times since I started writing their story. Sam opened the door like he had a million and a half things to do, which was true, but he smiled, a bright thing that somehow made everyone who viewed it think they were the most important person on earth, and said, "About time."

Their apartment was full of half-packed boxes. They were moving to Kansas soon, to the house across the street from where Sam grew up. The Winchester house was inhabited by Dean's family; John moved out to let his oldest son start his family in peace years ago. Years before the marriage. But John only lived a block away, halfway between Dean's house and the Roadhouse.

One picture was still sitting out. It took me less than half a second to place the scene – ten months ago in back of Sam's childhood home. I smiled at the memory, reaching out my hand to run my fingers over the frame. "Where's your lesser half?"

Sam laughed and rolled his eyes, "Better half. And out filming, I think. C'mon, we've got a lot to talk about."

Sam sat the MacBook at the kitchen table, clicking buttons that probably led to his email, to the story that was our main topic of discussion these days. Half a second later, his hostess skills kicked in and he added, "You want a drink?"

"You got whiskey?"

"Aren't you driving home?" Sam ignored my sigh and started right in with business. It was hard to believe the younger Winchester just turned 25 last week. That he was about to graduate grad school soon with a degree in law, and that he'd already found a job back in Kansas. He'd always seemed older than he was, but 25 seemed so insanely young to have accomplished all that.

"So, I have two major concerns. The first is the weird author insertion in chapter 8. That scene where Lucifer shows you that god awful video he refuses to delete from his phone," Sam pushed his hair off his face and looked up. "Through the whole story, you've been hinting at there being a distance between the story – you say _years later, Castiel_ blah blah blah – but actual self insertion? A present-day self insertion? That's sort of M. Night douchey, and I think you're going to lose some people."

I shrugged, "It seemed important. And I think it'll be important to the end."

"But why self-insert with Lucifer? Doesn't he already have a big enough ego? And you spend just as much time talking to Dean or Cas or me. Did you really have to use Lucifer?"

"It sounds like you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous," Sam huffed. "Certainly not of Lucifer Novak. I'm just saying…" but he left it at that.

"I could use you, I guess, too. If you like," Sam ignored me when I started scratching at my notebook – he always did. He was better at the rest of them at ignoring. "I just thought that was a cute moment."

"I don't like how you're indulging him," Sam frowned. "Isn't this Dean and Cas' story? Shouldn't you focus on them?"

"I think you just don't like the fact I mentioned the video. It was very cute, Sam. I forgot how secretly in love with Lucifer you were when you were fifteen. Really brought me back to high school." An angry blush appeared on Sam's face. "So what's your second area of concern?"

"Me," Sam said. "Those fights I was in freshmen year, they're _my_ scenes and you never have it in my point of view. Ever. I get that it _is_ Dean and Cas' story, but I think you're skewing the whole thing if you do it that way. And the last fight, that fight with Jake, you really need to put it in my point of view. Okay?"

"I will, if it means so much to you."

"I mean it," Sam drummed his hands on the table and his ring made a distinct _tap-tap-tap_. It was a nervous tell that only people who spent a lot of time around him noticed. "I swear to God if you jump to Lucifer's head for one second, I will kill you. I'm sure he told you everything that happened during that fight and every little feeling he had, but seriously. I don't want to hear about what he thought about that night. Not again."

This time, Sam didn't ignore me when I nodded, urging him to continue. Instead, he shut the MacBook and leaned back, taking a sip of some sort of tea before he started in on the story. "Alright, so this is how it happened."

Sam knew that Lucifer had been right when he said that Alistair and Azazel wanted their last fight to be a good show. Since Sam already knew who he was fighting, he was tossed into Lucifer's bedroom and told not to come out until someone came and got him. Which was fine. Watching the other kids fight was far worse than fighting.

So he waited and waited, until he heard a knock on the door. It opened slowly, and Aziraphale bounded in, crashing against Sam in a confused _you're not the human who sleeps here_ type of way, but accepted the pats with tail wagging. Crowley yelled at him, but he only had control of the hellhound when he wasn't around his favorite humans.

Sam wanted to hate Crowley. He wanted to bash his face in for his part in all of this. But Lucifer had let it slip at lunch that Castiel left last night, and when Sam walked the diabetic girl to the nurse, he found Castiel on the bench outside the office, staring down in his hands and Crowley on his knees before him, whispering. Even now, a few hours later, Crowley looked exhausted and stressed out.

It was kind of hard to hate anyone who was trying that hard to help someone else.

"Hey, kid," Crowley said, "You're up in fifteen. They're going to announce Jake first and he's going to walk in. Then announce you. Luci told me to tell you to play it up – psych him out."

"I got it," Sam said. Aziraphale lunged at Sam, licking his face, and the younger boy smiled. The dog didn't abide by his name at all. "Um… Crowley? Could you ask Cas if he'd come here for a minute?"

The bigger boy tensed. He made a sound, and his dog was at his heels, obedient. Maybe Crowley had more control than he let on. "That doesn't seem like a good idea," but he had the humanity in him to whisper, "Sorry."

"I'm not gonna do anything to him. I just need his help. Please?"

Sam tried to guess what Crowley was thinking. If he were Crowley, he'd never let Castiel near a Winchester again. People lock their princesses away in towers. They don't invite them to have tea with the prince's brother. But Sam didn't realize that he was more than just friends with Crowley on Facebook. How many days had he spent over at the Church, playing with Aziraphale, laughing with Crowley and Lucifer before Ruby came to get him working again.

"Yeah, okay." And he was gone.

Sam half expected him to return empty handed or at least for the remaining time to be eaten away as Crowley tried to convince Castiel to follow him. Thirty seconds later, Castiel pushed his way into the room, shutting the door before Crowley could follow him in.

He didn't say anything. Castiel stood there with his hands behind his back, looking at a spot on the floor. Open, willing, ready to be yelled at. Sam already had his shoes and his shirt off – he couldn't fight with them on – but he dug into his backpack, pulling out the jacket he was going to wear over his shoulders as he walked to the Trap. Castiel took a step toward him when he saw it, a sound starting in his throat.

Sam held up a sharpie to him. Castiel took it without question and sat down in front of the shorter boy. "I need you to draw something for me."

Crowley knocked and left the door ajar, so Sam could hear the introduction to his fight. Castiel ducked out and back into the catacombs. Sam pulled the jacket on, but didn't zip it up. Outside, he heard Crowley grunt a hello to Jake, and Sam stayed behind the door. He didn't want to be seen until his entrance.

He wanted to psych him out. He wanted to win this fight. If he won this fight, he'd…

"And now the moment months in the making," Lucifer wasn't channeling Tyler Durden anymore. He was a ruler, a king, speaking down to his servants in a way that made them seem like equals. "We started these fights to find a general for our army. To stand by me and fight Michael's bigoted, corrupting ways. And when I am gone, he'll carry on in my absence. We started with eight and we're down to two." Crowley pushed Jake in, and Sam watched from the slot in the door as the boy walked deeper into the catacombs, raising his arms, and was met with an overwhelming amount of support. He was Cato – a career – the favored bet. Sam wasn't even Katniss. He was Peeta. He only had a chance if he could tell a story and get the crowd to fall for it. However true it may turn out to be.

"The first contender stands at five-eleven, and one hundred eighty pounds… wearing cameo pants… Jake Talley."

Another round of applause erupted from the catacombs. They had a bigger crowd tonight than they ever had before. These weren't just people betting like before. These were people who wanted to see history. Wanted to see Jake beat the snot out of Sam. Sam held his breath, and rolled back the sleeve on his left hand.

"Sam? It's your turn," Crowley asked, pushing the door open, peeking his head around. He took one look at Sam and grinned. "I knew he fucking liked you for a reason. Come on, kid. Time to take your spot at Lucifer's side."

"And the other content comes in at five-seven and one hundred forty-five pounds, wearing…"

Sam walked into the catacombs.

He remembered once, when Gabriel put the firecracker in Lucifer's mashed potatoes and got him to think that it was Balthazar. Sam remembered when Balthazar stood to confront his brother, he stood with his shoulders forward, his arms thrown back, like he had a set of wings and he was bracing himself for battle. Sam walked past the people, the silent people, and as he walked, he tried to imagine himself bigger. He imagined wings behind him, like he was possessed by one of the angels who were supposed to watch over him and keep him safe.

Sam stood under the light in the Devil's Trap.

"…wearing my track jacket…" Lucifer started again, but his voice dropped to something like awe with something distinctly darker that Sam couldn't name. Sam turned to face him and took a deep breath in, puffing his chest before shaking his shoulders enough to get the track to slip off his skin. He caught it in his hands before holding it up to Lucifer. Finally, after four months, Sam returned the jacket he accidently stole the day Michael broke the boy's arm. Lucifer held it in his hands, studying the embroidered lines of the wings on the back, before turning it over, running his thumb over his name.

He looked up at Sam again, still puffed up like a peacock, with his hands on his hips and muttered, "and… oh, my God… my fucking… my fucking _name_ in Enochian…" Lucifer reached, like he wanted to trace the name over the smaller boy's heart. Each symbol was in the same position as the name on the jacket. But Sam just smirked, turned around, and faced Jake.

"And wings on his back," Lucifer didn't need to do the commentary. The people saw. They knew and they held their breath. Jake was as far to the edge of the Trap as he could be. Sam couldn't tell if he was pissed or what, but one thing was clear. He psyched Jake out. Sam cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, tuning out Lucifer whispering, _"Oh, God"_ behind him again.

Maybe Sam accidently psyched out the wrong person.

"Sam…" Lucifer breathed behind him, before he suddenly realized what he was supposed to be doing: announcing a death match. "Sam Winchester."

And they must have bought his story, because the people in the crowd started cheering. Chanting his name. And he suddenly had the home court advantage. Jake may be a better fighter than him, but he wasn't just fighting Sam. He was fighting Sam and the crowd.

But he wasn't going down without a fight.

Sam thought, for a moment, about saying something to Jake. Saying something about how they didn't have to do this – they could both walk out of this Devil's Trap together – but for some reason, he couldn't. He just knew. He knew he had to fight this, and apparently, so did Jake.

"Only one of us is getting out of here," Jake had his arms back, just like Balthazar had, just like Sam was doing now. "And I'm sorry, man. I can win, and I can stop the fighting. I can tear it down from the inside."

Sam let his guard drop just enough – stop the fighting, stop Michael and Lucifer's fighting – for Jake to make his first move. He hit him, a quick and powerful upper-cut that nearly lifted Sam off his feet. He landed on his back at the edge of the trap, dazed and struggling to sit up.

When he looked up, Jake was standing over him. He looked like a general, like a killer, like he was possessed. Then Jake started at him, and Sam kicked. Bare feet on bare stomach once, twice, just enough to get the bigger boy to hunch over, and Sam was rolling away, standing up. His fingers were out, defensive, and Jake punched, hitting him so hard in the shoulder he spun around.

Sam's shoulder was on fire, and his right arm went to his chest, suddenly useless. Before he could think about tapping, Jake punched him in the back and Sam fell down, barely able to control his decent enough to save his shoulder. Unlike last time, he used his left hand to push himself to his feet, and he was backing away, as far as the trap would let him go.

Jake wiped his mouth as he started walking toward Sam.

The smaller boy took a deep breath and watched as Jake brought his arm back. Sam dodged to the left, just missing the bigger boy's fist, and Sam grabbed his shoulder with his left arm, holding him down, and kneeing him in the stomach.

Jake staggered away, started to get up, started moving at Sam before he was even balanced. On instinct, Sam hugged his useless right arm to his body and kicked Jake again. It was enough to send him stumbling back, crashing out of the symbol drawn on the floor, and his head hit the cement with a dull thud.

Jake's arms twitched, and he gave a low groan of pain.

Sam's arm was killing him.

The smaller boy was heaving, trying to keep his shoulder from moving with his exaggerated breath as he walked up to his opponent. Jake started getting up, and Sam brought his left arm forward, hitting the bigger boy square in the face.

Jake stayed down this time.

Sam raised his fist, ready to swing again. But Azazel stepped in, grinning and gleeful, declaring Sam the winner, and the younger boy didn't know why, until he flashed back to the rules. _When someone says stop, or goes limp, even if he's faking it, the fights over._ Jake had gone limp.

Sam tried to rush over to Jake to make sure he was okay, but Azazel grabbed his left arm and pulled him back to the center, raising his arm. The crowd went wild. Jake rolled onto his side before pushing himself to sitting. His trainer came over and pulled him by the armpit back to his feet, but he wobbled unsteadily. A small patch of blood oozed on the cement where he had hit his head.

Behind him, someone touched his shoulder. Still jacked up on adrenalin, Sam spun and raised his arm, ready to punch. Lucifer just smiled. Azazel left and the leader and his new general were alone in the Devil's Trap.

Lucifer opened up the white track jacket, and put it around Sam, over his shoulders like a cape. The smaller boy hissed when the material touched his shoulder, but Lucifer just brushed the hair from Sam's face and smiled.

Then Lucifer took a step back and got on his knees before Sam. His hands touched the dirty floor over the white markings of the Trap, and he lowered his body, bowing before Sam.

The smaller boy heard gasps, heard whispers of question, but blood was rushing in his ears. Sam was still shaking, maybe even more now, and he heard a growl escape from somewhere before he realized he was the one who made the sound. His left arm was suddenly on Lucifer's bicep, and he was pulling him up. Once standing, Lucifer tilted his head to the side and Sam lost it. He just fucking lost it.

He removed his hand from the bigger boy's bicep and instead let it slide behind Lucifer's neck. Sam tugged him down, and stood on his toes, crashing his mouth against the Lucifer's.

My pen hovered over the paper, waiting for Sam to continue. There was a pause – all that could be heard is the ticking clock on the wall – a moment passed, then another. Then, the silence wasn't bearable any longer. "Well?" Sam looked up from the spot on the couch where he'd been staring into his mug. "You want me to stop with that? Just that you kissed Lucifer?"

"Yes."

"Well, how did he react? What happened after that?" Sam smirked at my prying tone. "If I end a chapter with that, people are going to kill me."

Sam shrugged, grin still plastered on his face. "I don't want you to add it. Just end it with the kiss. But for the record, cause I can tell you're a total pervert, he froze. Just completely still, then one of his hands was on my hip and one buried itself in my hair." Sam ran his hand through his hair, his grin turning into a small smile filled with nostalgia.

"Um… yeah," Sam chuckled and looked up, right hand falling down on the sleeve of his left wrist. It covered the spot where he used to draw the star. "I knew right then that he loved me, you know? But he… he broke the kiss and gave me this smile that lit up his face. Like full of love and joy, but then something came over him. Something always did back then, before he got help."

Sam ran his arm over his wrist one more time, before grabbing the sleeve and tugging it down to keep the flesh hidden. When he looked back up, he forced a smile and cleared his throat. "That's enough about Luce and me for today, I think. You should get back to Dean and Castiel. Besides, I've got more packing to do." I gathered my things. The notebook was shoved under my arm.

When I walked opened my car door, ready to speed away, Sam called out to me, "You'll be back in Lawrence after I graduate, right? Dean and a bunch of the Novaks are going to help us move everything into the house, but you're more than welcome to come help too. I know you like being a fly on the wall when a bunch of us are together. It'll only cost some minor physical labor."

I grinned, but forced my voice to a more sarcastic range when I said, "Gee, thanks Sam!"

The younger Winchester just grinned, flipped me off, and walked back inside, slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:
> 
> The song Castiel sells to in the club is “Pour Some Sugar On Me” by Def Lep
> 
> Lucifer is singing “One hundred stories” by Alkaline Trio in the bell tower when Crowley thinks he’s going to jump.
> 
> The “just a little pinprick” line Castiel said when he was shooting up is from “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd.


	10. We Found Love: Part II

 

 

 

**We Found Love (Part II)**

The night after the fight, the Novaks in the Church couldn't sleep. They were on the mattress on the floor in Lucifer's makeshift bedroom with hoods pulled over their heads, curled up in balls, backs to each other. Castiel was between the wall and his brother, eyes open, not even pretending to be asleep. Lucifer's breath evened out for ten minutes, before he jerked awake, pushed back against Castiel and whispered, "Do you see them?"

Castiel rolled to face his brother, lifting up his head to peek over the bigger boy's shoulder. There was a gallon of black paint unopened on the floor, their cell phones plugged into the wall, and nothing else. Castiel shook his head.

Lucifer couldn't see him; he was scrambling to sit up, keeping himself a shield between whatever he saw and his younger brother. Castiel followed suit and sat up, legs drawn to his chest. The dark room was silent except for Lucifer's frantic pants for breath. "Why can't you see them?"

Lucifer pushed back until his spine rested between his brother's legs. He kept pushing, like he was trying to crawl into the smaller boy's lap. He made a small, terrified sound, and then whispered, "You aren't real."

Castiel put a hand on Lucifer's shoulder.

"If he can't see you, then you aren't real," he mumbled to the darkness, and kept repeating it over and over like a trance. A minute went by – then two – and with a deep exhale from the older boy, the moment was over – the things were gone – and he turned to face Castiel. He sighed. "Good. They didn't get you."

Lucifer laid back down on his back this time. He was sweating, and he pushed the hood off his head to run his fingers through his hair. His chest rose and fell quickly, pale eyes shut in the darkness. Castiel felt sick. He was still working through the heroin he took at Crowley's two days ago. He had to stay sober. He had to. For when Dean came to talk to him. So he could explain. So Dean would take him back.

"Sam kissed me," Lucifer whined, eyes opening to look through the darkness at his brother. There were tears in his eyes, and his brought a wrist to his face to hide his shame. "I kissed him back."

Castiel was level with Lucifer's knee, so he reached out and touched it. The older brother flinched, rolling onto his side, facing away from his brother. Castiel wanted to talk to him, wanted to say something about how this was _good_ not shameful. His brother had been making goo-goo eyes at the younger Winchester for months. But he knew the real issue for Lucifer: his stupid plan with Ruby.

Castiel opened his mouth to say _you need to talk to him_ , but the sound died in his throat. He couldn't speak, so he just laid back down, facing his brother, reaching out a hand to place between his shoulder blades.

"Don't," Lucifer said, but he pushed back against the hand. The older brother sighed, grabbing a fist full of his hood and pulling it back over his head and down over his eyes.

* * *

The pounding on the door wasn't one Dean knew. It wasn't the timid knock Castiel used to use – so thank fucking God for small victories – but it wasn't the strange tap that Lucifer would give either. No, the older Novak started strong, but the force died out over the three taps, like he knew nobody would answer the door anyway and he should stop trying. It wasn't Bobby, because his triple-tap held the same cadence – I'm here for a reason so let me in, idjits – so Dean decided it wasn't anyone he wanted to talk to (not that he wanted to talk to anyone), and decided to stay shirtless on the couch with a beer at noon on a Saturday.

It wasn't for him and nobody else was home.

He turned the TV up a little louder.

Too many things reminded him of Castiel. Crime shows were out; documentaries were out. He would sit in his room alone, but Sam already knew and John would know soon and he wasn't even _out_ to his dad or whatever and it sucked that his big pride speech would be spoiled with I broke up with the only person I've ever loved who wasn't family because he cheated on me.

For two months. Half the time they were dating.

To get money to get your ass out of jail. So thanks dad.

No. He wasn't going to sit and blame John for this. Eventually, Castiel would have been led away from Dean, and Dean wasn't stupid. He knew that. He knew that no matter what, he and Castiel were never going to stay together. Castiel would get clean and come to his senses. Or he'd fall off the wagon and into that fucking British fuckhead's arms. Either way, Dean and Castiel were doomed to end. And Crowley was always there.

Castiel deserved someone who could take care of him anyway. Dean was a mechanic, son of a mechanic, and Castiel deserved better. But he didn't have to cheat on him, okay? He didn't have to…

Dean was going to kill whoever was knocking at the door. He finished his beer and stood.

He didn't pause the stupid cartoon he decided on getting drunk to when he walked to the front door and yanked it open with a scowl of complete hate on his face before he saw who it is. When the youngest Novak looked up at him with his big, stupid eyes, the scowl melted away to more of a general frown toward all humanity.

"Hey half-pint, Sam isn't here," Dean stepped back, trying to shut the door in the smaller boy's face. Gabriel made a sound – a pathetic, desperate thing – and reached his arms toward the door and gave it an almighty push, trying to keep it open. Dean rested his arm on the jamb, sighing, and said, "What do you want?"

"Can I just hang out with you for an hour or two?" Dean wasn't growing any taller but Gabriel seemed impossibly shorter than the last time he stood before Dean. The older boy sighed again; he was suddenly aware of how he hadn't showered or even properly clothed himself and how he was aiming at getting drunk and how he didn't want to babysit. "Michael's planning prom with a bunch of student council and they…" Gabriel gave him another pathetic look. "Please, Dean."

Dean's mind said no. No fucking way, but his arm held the door open a little further and Gabriel smiled, ducking under Dean's arm to walk into the Winchester house. Gabriel wandered toward the couch and Dean took the stairs two at a time to grab a shirt. He already hadn't showered, so he grabbed one at random and started walking back down, pulling it over his head. He hit the landing before the shirt cleared his face, and when he could see again, he noticed Gabriel was looking at him.

"Lookin's free, but touchin'll cost you," Dean smirked when Gabriel's eyes flashed with annoyance. "You want a beer?"

"I'm fifteen, Dean. It's noon on a Saturday."

"Oh, shit. I missed your birthday," Dean hit his head like he actually knew when Gabriel's birthday was. "Fifteen? Well, time to celebrate. I'll get you a beer."

The smaller boy protested, but Dean just walked to the fridge. He bought a 12 pack yesterday and hid it under his bed. The more they could finish before John got home, the least likely he would find them and end up slipping.

And Dean fucking sacrificed enough to get his dad out of jail. He couldn't lose him, too.

No. Stop thinking about that.

He brought the bottle of beer back into Gabriel, who fitted himself comfortably in Sam's usual spot on the loveseat. Dean took his spot on the couch, popping the cap, and taking a long swig. Gabriel opened his but took a smaller sip. He made a face and Dean realized he should have offered the kid chocolate milk.

"So Mikey's got your panties in a twist?" Dean asked, putting his bare feet up on the coffee table.

Gabriel frowned, "You want to hear about my problems?"

"No," Dean said, turning his head to smile at the smallest Novak. "But Sammy says it's good to talk about feelings and if we're talking about you we aren't talking about me. So, Mike?"

"Yeah, Mike," Gabriel took another sip of the beer. This one must have gone down smoother, because he didn't flinch and pull away. "He's planning prom right now, but he may as well be planning his political career as a republican bigot."

Dean expected him to go on, but instead, Gabriel just sighed, took a long sip of beer, and leaned back watching the TV. After a moment he frowned, then turned his eyes back to Dean, "You're watching _Hey! Arnold_?"

"If you don't like _Hey! Arnold_ you can go fuck yourself back into your brother's lap," Dean smirked. "So, what? Trying to ban certain couples from going to prom?"

"I can understand him being freaked out or whatever with his twin brother macking on a dude. I mean, at least before, but now he has slumber parties with Adam Milligan all the time. But the dude kicked Lucifer out of the house. He got into school politics to beat him down. He raised an army of religious douche bags and he's preaching the letter of the law, but not the spirit of it," Gabriel's throat let an angry sound escape, but he chased it away with the beer, shaking his head at it.

"What do you mean the letter but not the spirit?"

"I mean – yes, in the Hebrew Bible it _does_ say some stuff about how being gay is a sin. But how many people were there in the world? You sort of needed a steady increase in population and we so don't need that anymore. Besides, it also says we should love and forgive one another. He's picking and choosing what he wants to live by and he's making exceptions in other parts. When he found out about Bela and Balthy, damn I thought he was going to have an aneurism or something." Gabriel ran a hand through his hair. "But he's trying to keep them safe. I think he was trying to keep Lucifer safe, too, before his righteous fury got in the way."

"So you don't hate Mike?"

"No," Gabriel whined, tipping up the bottle until Dean was sure there was nothing left to milk out of it. When he lowered it back to his lap, the smaller boy rolled it over in his hands, thumb tracing the words of the label. "I don't hate either of them. They're my brothers and I love them. And I'm not on either side. I don't want either of them to win, but I'm just so sick of the fighting. I want it to stop."

Gabriel sighed, before turning toward Dean and extending the empty bottle. "I'll trade you."

Dean lifted his own bottle to his lips, but it was still three quarters full. He quickly remedied that, chugging it down before grabbing Gabriel's empty. He couldn't ignore the look of amusement and challenge in the younger boy's eyes, so he frowned and got them two more.

* * *

Lucifer's fingers could get the chords of the guitar pretty easily; he'd played violin for years and his left hand was a natural. But it was different to sit the instrument in his lap and use a pick instead of a bow. He couldn't get his right wrist to agree with him a lot. Strumming was awkward, but he stuck with it.

With the pick in his mouth, he flipped his phone through webpages of chords, trying to find the one he wanted to play. He was sitting on the step at the bell tower, looking out over the street. It was snowing and his fingers were already freezing. He wouldn't be able to play out here for long, but the acoustics were better up here. Or at least, that's what he told himself. Really, he just liked being perched fifty feet off the ground with the crisp air dancing around him.

He'd play the song enough to know the finger placement, but not enough to know them off the top of his head. He started strumming sort of loudly, liking how it sounded vibrating around the brick tower before coming back to him near the opening. When the words started, he got quieter, aiming at getting the lyrics and strumming together which was something he struggled with when learning a new song.

" _I know it's dark here, you know that I'm scared, too. For some reason, right now, of everything but you…"_ He fumbled a bit, but stuck through it, only stopping to scroll down on his phone. He knew the chorus better than the verses anyway.

" _Believe in what I am because it's all I have today. And tomorrow who knows where we'll be,"_ Lucifer thought he heard something, so he stopped playing for a moment. When he didn't hear it again, he started up. _"From here I can hardly see a thing…"_

He swore he heard it. It sounded like someone yelling, singing along. So he kept strumming, and looked over the edge of the tower to the sidewalk. Sam was waving his left arm up at him; his right arm was inside his thick coat. Lucifer kept strumming the chorus, lighting up when Sam yelled the words up at him.

" _But I will follow anyone who brings me to you. For now. Forever. For on and on and on."_ Sam let out a breath and Lucifer watched it cover his face before dissipating in the cold air. "Can I come up?"

"Sure," Lucifer said, leaning back inside the window and strumming the rest of the song. He pushed his fingers harder into the strings. He should have known that there was no way he could pretend that kiss never happened. It was fucking perfect, so full of love and desire that it scared him. It was like he was the Grinch, and his heart swelled three times that day. Like the grace he felt leave him the day Michael kicked him out had returned.

Like he wasn't macking on a fifteen-year-old kid.

He owed Sam an explanation for breaking the kiss and barely holding it together at the sound of everyone leaving the Church. For a few agonizingly long moments, Lucifer buried his fingers in his hair and dug, feeling the skin scrape off and his blood moisten his fingers. Lucifer remembered the last time Sam had found him like this, freezing and scraping at his head, and the younger boy had dragged him to his room.

Sam just talked him down – he got his hands to stay out of his hair by holding them in his own – and just talked. Calm and loving, like he didn't care Lucifer was compelled to hurt himself from time to time. Like it didn't matter.

Castiel was right. He needed to tell Sam why he pushed Ruby onto him.

Sam's head popped into the bell tower, followed by the rest of his body. This close, he could see Sam's arm was in a sling – he went to the doctors after he left Lucifer Friday night – but it wasn't broken. Just injured and it'd get better if he didn't move it too much. He sat next to Lucifer and listened to him play, while Lucifer tried to think up how he was going to tell Sam.

Castiel was right. It was stupid. He shouldn't have done it and his reasons were flawed. Borderline insane.

He set the guitar to the side and sighed. Now or never, right?

Sam turned his attention to the blond boy, eyeing him like he was some kind of experiment. Then he shifted, put his left hand on Lucifer's face and angled him in. The second their lips made contact, something exploded in Lucifer that was all white light and tingly. He loved it. He loved the way the smaller boy fit next to him, how their lips fit together, how Sam made him feel. But his eyebrows furrowed and he broke the kiss, ducking his head to hide from his friend.

Sam was breathless when he asked, "What's wrong?"

"I lost my virginity when I was fourteen."

Shit. That wasn't what he meant to say. Sam was frowning at him somewhere between annoyed and confused and Lucifer took a deep breath and tried to save it. "I mean, I was barely fourteen. It was two weeks after my fourteenth birthday."

That wasn't really any better.

"Michael told me I couldn't do it. He told me it was a sin. So I ran out and found Lilith – she'd been my best friend for so long – and we… we just… we did it. And I was so scared of getting smote and getting her pregnant that I never even… and it just _hurt_ her because we didn't know what we were doing and…" Lucifer's fingers dug themselves in his hair. Sam only had one available hand, but he reached out instantly, lacing his fingers over the older boy's wrist and forcing it down.

"It sucked Sam. It really sucked. And I felt so bad about it that I never…" Lucifer growled, angry he couldn't think of the words, and he shifted directions. "I had my first fist fight when I was thirteen, and… no, I don't think it starts there either."

"I don't know what you're trying to tell me," Sam said, his voice soft. Lucifer's free hand started scratching at a scab on his scalp, but the smaller boy shifted. Pinning the one hand between his knees, Sam reached up and took the other hand from Lucifer's head, lacing their fingers together before pulling the hands to his lap. He let go with his knees, and Lucifer's free hand jumped to Sam's, so both were impossibly tangled in the smaller, softer hand. "Is this about the kissing? I thought that… we can stop if you don't like it."

"No, Sam," Lucifer squeezed. "I just… I couldn't ask Lilith to sleep with you, you know? She's only ever been with me that one time and it seemed rude. So I asked Ruby. I don't remember when I started sleeping with Ruby. Sixteen or something. I traded her and Meg out like toys. I was both their first, too, and I treated them like slaves or… I was a real fucking jerk, Sam. I just needed something and I thought if I kept trying, they'd give it to me, but they didn't. And Meg's eighteen so I couldn't ask her. But Ruby…"

Sam's frown reached his eyebrows; something darker was shining in his eyes. Betrayal. But he didn't yank his hand back. If anything he squeezed harder when he said, "What did you think I couldn't get laid on my own and you were just trying to give me a handout or something? Your sloppy seconds?"

"No," Lucifer whined, and Sam blurred when tears started forming in his eyes. "I had Lilith and Meg and Ruby. I had them. They loved me and I took things from them that they could never get back. I took their trust and their love and their innocence and I…" One of Lucifer's hands left Sam's to squeeze his knee. "I couldn't take that from you. I won't take that from you. I thought if someone else already took that stuff from you, you wouldn't blame me when this falls apart. Because it will, Sam. It will fall apart. I didn't mean to hurt the girls. I just can't help it. Everything I love gets ruined, Sam. I live in an abandoned Church. My brother thinks I'm going to burn in hell, and I probably am. You're the only thing in my life worth living for and I can't break you like I broke them. Like I'm broken. I won't drag you down with me."

Lucifer could feel his heart and lungs battling to get oxygen to his body. His head was swimming from the lack of it, from the hand clenched around his heart that made the process harder. He needed to say more, but he couldn't think of the words. He couldn't explain it. There weren't words created that could express how much he cared for Sam.

"So you asked Ruby to sleep with me because you thought if I lost my virginity to her, I wouldn't hate you when we inevitably broke up?" Sam's voice was gentle again, and Lucifer felt his ears grow hot at the absurdity of it.

"In my head it was more than that. Something about me being broken and you deserving better. Castiel told me it was stupid."

"It was stupid. So freaking stupid," Sam was grinning at him, and Lucifer felt the heat rising to his face, but it switched from embarrassment to anger. "I wouldn't have just stuck it in Ruby, you know? I don't love her, but even if I did… I don't know if I'm ready for that. Not just with Ruby, but with anyone."

"But…"

"What do you feel about me?" Sam's thumb was tracing circles on the back of Lucifer's hand.

"We are two halves made whole," Lucifer said, turning his hand over, so his palm was down and Sam's hand was up. "MFEO, literally."

"Em-ef-ee-oh?"

"Yeah. Made for each other." Lucifer brought Sam's hand to his lips. "I can't imagine being happy without you. I want to give you everything I have. There's nothing I won't do for you, or give for you. I love you, Sam. More than I love myself."

Sam smiled and ducked his head, "Well, I love you too. And I don't care if this ends up not working. I don't care if you think you'll break me. It's my choice whether or not I try. Provided you do, too."

"But you're fifteen, Sam. I'm eighteen. I don't want people to talk. I don't want them saying I kidnapped and brainwashed you. I don't want to go to jail for being a pervert."

Sam grinned, "Let the assholes talk. Since when do you care what they have to say? And besides, I'll be sixteen in three months. I'm sure we can wait that long."

"I would wait forever for you," Lucifer brushed stray hair out of Sam's face. "I swore I'd never make you do anything you didn't want to."

"Okay, then," Sam smiled. "So anything you want to ask me?"

Lucifer offered an unsure smile, "I'll never lie to you. I'll never trick you." He reached out a hand, pushing Sam's coat open, and resting his palm against the younger boy's chest. His heart was beating faster than Lucifer would have thought. He smiled and looked back up at Sam's face. "Will you let me in?"

Sam didn't hesitate. He just smiled and said, "Yes."

* * *

Charlie Bradbury had known something was wrong that first day: January 31st, otherwise known as the day her OTP split up. Really, she figured they'd just had a fight. Teenage boys fought all the time and even though she loved the Older Winchester and the Younger Novak and shipped them, she never really thought they were together. Not really.

Not until Monday, February 4th when she had to break up a fight in the hallway. Tensions were out of wack all Monday. There were whispers among the students about Sam Winchester and Lucifer Novak, but they weren't her business. Or it wouldn't be until Michael tried to beat his twin brother in class. But that wasn't what happened.

Instead, the blue eyed Novak went walking by with Crowley. The older boy was talking, but like he didn't expect a response back, and the Novak didn't seem to hear him at all. About the time they started walking upstairs to the science department, the older Winchester rounded the corner.

It happened so fast, Charlie couldn't even react until it was over.

One minute, the Winchester boy was walking around the corner; the next, he was being slammed up against a locker a thirty feet down the hall. Charlie yelped, but the Winchester boy didn't seem too surprised. Until he opened his eyes and frowned, "Michael?"

Charlie started running toward the assault.

Of all the teachers in the school, Charlie was one of the rare few who had the privilege to witness Michael Novak's wrath. Here he was, his forearm across the Winchester boy's throat, pushing in by the looks of it. Michael was scowling, teeth bared in an alpha male sort of way, but his voice was loud. "What did you do to Castiel, Dean?"

Castiel, Charlie thought. That was the name of the Novak boy. And Dean Winchester. She should have known that.

"I didn't do…" Dean started gagging and Michael let up. "I didn't do shit to him."

"What did you fucking do to my little brother, Winchester?"

"I fucking broke up with him," Dean yelled, hands pushing at Michael's arm, trying to get it off his throat. Charlie stopped the internal squeal that her OTP had once been an actual thing and focused instead on getting to the scene before Michael pummeled Dean's face in for the sin he committed.

"Hey," she yelled, but Michael was pushing in again, seeing red.

"Why? Just to break his heart? Just another conquest to you? I'm going to kill you. He thought you loved him, you jackass."

That was… unexpected. Charlie stopped five feet away, unsure of what to do now that she was here.

"He was fucking cheating on me!" Dean said, pain spilling forth from his chest. Like he still didn't believe it, like he didn't want it to be true. His fingers clamped on Michael's arm, like the attack was the only thing keeping him on his feet. "I swear, Michael, I…"

"Get off my brother!" Sam Winchester came running into the picture, his left hand grabbing Michael's shoulder and pulling (because his right arm was in a sling. Weird). His foot kicked at the back of Michael's knee, and the bigger boy stumbled, dropping Dean. Michael turned, scowling at Sam, but Lucifer was grabbing Sam's arm and forcing him behind him. Lucifer stood up to his brother, standing between him and Sam.

"Leave Dean alone," Lucifer said, voice even. Sam's left hand came to rest on Lucifer's back.

"Don't you care?" Michael whined – actually _whined_. "You saw what he did to Castiel. I can't believe you didn't beat him first."

"I care. But Castiel brought it on himself. Dean has the right to forgive or not to forgive. You can't bully people into getting what you want from them, Mickey," the name stuck in Lucifer's throat, but it made Michael wince like he had been slapped. "If you beat some sense into anyone, you'd have to beat it into our brother."

Lucifer held his hand down, and Dean took it, allowing the boy to help him up.

Michael frowned, "Castiel wouldn't do that. He knows that's a sin. He wouldn't…" Michael crossed his arms and looked at Dean. "He loved you."

"Yeah, well, not enough," Dean said as the bell rang. The older Winchester shoved past his attacker and started making his way to his class. Sam yelled out to him, but Dean kept walking.

"Boys," Charlie called, but her throat was dry. Sam walked into his classroom down the hall, and Lucifer and Michael walked into Charlie's class, whispering together.

* * *

Pulling up to the Crowley Mansion still caused a twitch to vibrate through my being. Years later, after everything that happened, this house held more answers and memories than any location in Lawrence, except for maybe the Winchester house. Maybe the Church as well. But Crowley Mansion was debatably where Dean and Castiel's story started. It certainly was a constant throughout their relationship and even thereafter.

Even with my books and notebooks in hand, it seemed strange to walk to the house. I was never one to go to the large house in high school, but I knew the stories. And even though it was far more inviting now than it had ever been throughout that year of high school, the fear was still there. The knowledge of what happened here pumped through me.

A knock on the door resulted in uneven footsteps, and the letter box opened up. I knelt down, and suddenly a pair of blue eyes disappeared, running back down the hall with a call that sounded predominately like a short "a" without any consonants.

The toddler was still learning to speak.

Moments later, bigger footsteps could be heard, followed by the unlatching of several locks. When the door swung open, Castiel had the child pressed against his chest; he offered a small smile and stood back to let me in the front door.

Castiel returned the locks to the door, led me through the foyer, and sat the child down on the floor before taking a seat on the expensive looking couch. Everything seemed expensive: the paintings on the wall, the carpets, the furniture. The child would have looked out of place if he wasn't dressed in designer clothes. There was something sick about a child wearing something that expensive. Something that he would probably end up getting dirty or ruined anyway.

Castiel sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He knew where the story was at. He knew what needed to be discussed. Lucifer and Sam offered information for free – they didn't care if their lives were made more public – but it was an uphill battle with Castiel every time. It didn't help that he rarely remembered the details. But at least he tried.

Dean was fucking intolerable to talk to.

"Hey, buddy." The child looked up at me from the blocks. His dirty blond hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it away. "What's your name?"

"Bywin," the little diplomat stood, offering his hand. Handshakes were made, and Castiel leaned back into the couch, a small smile forming on his lips.

"Byron," he corrected. "And you know his name, you're just stalling."

"It's nice to see you again too, Cas,"

"You are always a pleasure."

Byron abandoned his blocks and instead started crawling up Castiel's leg. The man helped him up, picking up the child and setting him carefully in his lap. Castiel was twenty-seven now, maybe just a bit too skinny, but undoubtedly more healthy than he was in high school. Those years hadn't really left him completely. Although this was the first time a meeting was held in the Crowley Mansion, we talked about it often. And about how he couldn't escape the ghosts of his past that haunted the building.

How he couldn't even enter the basement.

"Where are we in the story?" Castiel asked, though he said it to Byron.

The child tossed his arms around Castiel's neck and said, "Woocee. Uncool Woocee."

Castiel translated, "Lucifer."

"I can't wait to tell Lucifer that his nephew calls him Uncool. But yeah. Lucifer and Sam just got together, and that means…"

"Dean and I just broke up," Castiel sighed, setting Byron back down and running his fingers through the child's already static-filled hair. "Has he started hanging out with Gabe?"

"Yeah, but we haven't gotten to the good stuff with them yet."

Castiel sighed, "So you're the week before Europe." Castiel looked up at the ceiling and gave another sigh. "February was rough for me, you know. I don't remember a lot of it, but what I do isn't…"

"It's alright, Cas. Take your time." My paper and pen were ready, but Castiel didn't move his vision from the chandelier as he started in on the story.

Lucifer wasn't at the Church and Castiel needed to stay clean so when Dean decided to talk to him – just for five minutes – he could explain. Crowley meant nothing to him. Crowley meant money and drugs and everything but he meant nothing to him. Not like Dean did. So he fought to stay clean. He could show him how hard he tried to stay clean without him, even when everything in his power was screaming at him to just open the drawer and take some Oxys. He could crush them and snort them. And it would be good.

He was pulling the bottles out of the drawer before he even knew he was in the kitchen. Castiel shoved them back in and shut the door with an almighty thud, fleeing the Church and its temptations.

Clean. He kept saying to himself over and over in his head. Clean for Dean.

He heard the footsteps beside him, but Castiel just wrapped his coat around his chest and pressed on into the light snowfall, concentrating on his breath and how his ears were cold. Sensations he knew were real.

"Honey, Dean isn't going to call you. You lied to him. You cheated on him. And he doesn't want you back," His mother kept pace with him, even though in life she had been a stop and smell the roses kind of person. It wasn't his mother. It wasn't his mother. "You're filthy, Castiel. Nobody will forgive your sins this time."

Clean for Dean. Clean for Dean.

"Stop that, Castiel," his mother chastised. He felt the hand touch his back where his mother swatted at him, brushing his shoulder like she could brush the thoughts from his head. "You need to find your father, and you can't do it like this. Not obsessing over that Winchester boy. He doesn't love you anymore because you are unclean. It's a spot on your soul that you can't rub out. You'll feel like this forever, even if you stay off the drugs. So give in, baby. Give in, find your father, and I will go away. I'll stop harassing you."

Castiel pushed his hands into the door of the convenient store a block away from the Church. The bell above the door jingled, and for a moment, he didn't feel his mother behind him. The store was empty except for a few kids he knew from school sitting at the diner part next to the joined Subway. Castiel pushed the sleeves up on his jacket before searching his pockets for money.

He had to stay clean for Dean, but he needed help. Maybe a coffee or something that Dean would consider not a drug. He had six dollars and fifty-two cents on him, but he had no idea where that came from. He handled money in twenties and fifties – he rarely bought anything – but as he walked up to the counter, he didn't think about that. Instead he sat the money down, along with his fake ID telling the lady at the register that he was his father, and pointed at the packs of cigarettes on the wall behind her.

She turned to look, popped her gum, and turned back to him. "What kind?"

He didn't care. He was shaking. He hadn't had a cigarette since – fuck if he knew – he stopped smoking when he stopped the drugs. Probably with Crowley that night he broke his sober streak. That night before Dean found out.

He needed to stay clean. Tobacco wasn't illegal – it didn't count as a real drug – and he needed it. He never needed it this bad before.

Castiel looked past her, then pointed to the top left corner. He didn't care about the brand. He really didn't care. He just needed something foreign in him. Something toxic. He needed to kill himself, slowly. One by one because his mother was right and Dean wasn't going to call.

She grabbed the red box, rang it up, and took Castiel's money. He slipped his ID in his pocket and walked outside, searching his pockets for a lighter.

"Honey, you never smoked without Crowley. You don't have your own lighter."

Castiel turned to look at his mother. She was in that same dress, still barefoot, and shining like she was a messenger of heaven. She looked at him sadly, arms crossed over her chest in a disappointed way, and he couldn't stand it. He shoved the pack in his pocket – he didn't have enough money now to buy a lighter – and started walking aimlessly down the street.

He could hear his mother's feet still, but he ignored it. He ignored her desperate pleas to find their father because he wasn't coming home. Instead, he should find a liquor store and drink it. He needed to unwrap one of Crowley's candies and make everything go away. Because Dean wasn't going to call because Castiel fucked it up.

Clean for Dean.

He needed to go somewhere and be with someone. Someone who could watch him. Make sure he didn't slip. Because when Dean called, he needed to be sober. To show him. _Look what I did for you. Look what I sacrificed for you._

He knocked on Crowley's window before he realized he was crouched down in the back of the boy's house. The snow hadn't stuck, but it turned the ground to mud. Crowley didn't answer, so he knocked again. Then tried the window. It was locked.

Castiel stood up, frowning. Lucifer was gone. Crowley was gone. He couldn't look at Sam without thinking of Dean and he couldn't go to Dean.

Castiel walked around front.

He never really noticed how large Crowley's house was. He usually only saw the basement, and the one time he did go inside, he went in through the back door – saw the massive, beautiful kitchen – and went right down to the basement to watch Gabriel do his dance at the Sign In. It must be amazing inside.

"Oy," a voice called from behind him. Castiel turned and was faced with the real Mr. Crowley – meaning Crowley's father – and the man was grinning at him. He had dark hair and good cheekbones. He was wearing snakeskin shoes and sunglasses. "You lost, boy?"

Castiel knew he had to speak, but instead he gestured to the house. Mr. Crowley was leaning against the Bentley, his preferred car, even though he had a brand new Jaguar XK convertible parked just behind it in the driveway. It must be new, Castiel couldn't remember seeing the new toy before and that was certainly something he would remember.

"My boy helped me pick it out. Well, I knew I wanted a Jag but he convinced me to go for the convertible. A nice choice, I think. You must be here for him, then?" Castiel nodded and Mr. Crowley led him to the door and left him in the foyer, taking the stairs two at a time shouting, "A-gee, you got a friend here for you."

Inside, the house was more breathtaking. At the end of the foyer there were two sets of stairs leading up to the second floor. Castiel knew the kitchen was to the left, and he knew he should stay where he was, but he couldn't help himself wander to the right. The living room was massive – so massive it was sectioned off – a giant TV on the wall, shelves and shelves of books near the fireplace, and in the back, a grand piano.

Castiel took off his shoes and walked to the instrument.

The boy learned to play on a keyboard at home, but played an upright at the Church. Once and a great while, when he was younger, they let him play the organ at the church Michael now preached at. Castiel sat at the grand, letting his fingers brush over the keys without pushing them down.

He wasn't going to play, he really wasn't, but the call for drugs was killing him. He wanted to take something, to forget that Dean wasn't going to forgive him, and why not take this? This was better than the drugs, right? He needed to stay sober. He needed to stay clean. Just in case.

His fingers pressed down one key, then two. Three, four. Five, six. Seven, eight. Then he added his other hand, octaves higher, the same beat. Then with his right hand, a chord, his left remained the same. Then he started picking up, doing different things with each hand. The tempo remained the same, but the notes changed from halves to quarters to eighths to sixteenths.

When he was younger – before the smack and everything – Castiel dreamed of playing a grand piano in front of thousands of people. Maybe with a philharmonic or maybe he'd be so good he could be like Yoyo Ma and travel around, teaching master classes at universities. His jeans and trench coat didn't cheapen the experience of playing the grand, not really, but he wished he was wearing something nice. So he could play the part and forget himself in the music. Forget what he'd done and what he'd become.

He closed his eyes for a moment, reveling at the sound he created by pressing keys – the keys that hit a hammer against a wire – creating the beautiful canon in d.

If anyone asked how long he played, he wasn't sure if it was seconds or hours. In reality he knew. Just over six minutes. The notes cut back down a minute from the end, quieter, reminiscent of the beginning, until he ended the way he started. One, two. Three, four. Five, six… adding a little flair to the last few notes. His hands remained hovering over the keys, listening to the vibration of the last note ring through the air.

"Wow," a female voice breathed, and Castiel looked up, expecting to see his mother standing across the living room. Instead, it was a woman who looked completely different from both his mother and the boy standing next to her. She was short – even shorter than Crowley – and had dark hair and a dark dress on. The sleeves went past her elbows, but cut off before the wrists. She was decidedly beautiful, and Castiel stood, putting his hands behind his back, hoping that was enough of an apology.

"That was a beautiful arrangement of Pachelbel's Canon," Mrs. Crowley continued, her accent completely American. She started stepping forward. Her son quickly followed her until they both were standing a few feet from Castiel. The look on Crowley's face forced Castiel to look away. As if the smaller boy needed any more reminders that his friend was completely in love with him. "You must be one of Anna Milton's kids." She thought for a second, and then declared, "After the twins."

"Castiel," Crowley supplied for her.

Mrs. Crowley smiled, reaching out her hand to touch Castiel's shoulder. "It's a beautiful name. What a handsome boy."

Castiel looked down, his hands shaking behind his back again. He needed a lighter. He needed something to push away the want for the drugs that was growing inside him again. It dimmed when he played, but he felt it growing. He looked up at Crowley, and he knew.

"I'm going to go hang out with him for a bit, okay, mum? I'll come back and visit with you in a while," he nodded his head toward the hall and Castiel followed him out of the living room, through the foyer, through the kitchen, and down into the basement. By the time he got down there, he was shaking so bad he walked right to Crowley's bed, knees finding the mattress and crawling to the bowl of not-candies near his headboard. He sat back on his feet, opening the dish and pulling out a red balloon, looking it over in his hands.

Clean for Dean.

"You doing okay?" The bed pressed down with Crowley's added weight, but he didn't move much closer. In the mirror, Castiel could see he was sitting at the foot of the bed, watching him. He wanted it. He was so close. But he put the heroin back in the dish, put the cover back on, and turned to face the other boy on the bed.

Castiel shook his head.

Crowley moved a little closer, sitting opposite of him with their knees almost touching. "Anything you want, angel. Heroin, oxy, coke. Anything. What's mine is yours."

Castiel dug in his pocket and pulled the unopened pack of cigarettes out. He hit the pack against his hand, then took the wrapper off, shoving the waste back in his pocket. He took one out, putting it between his lips. Crowley watched him like he'd never seen a cigarette before, but when Castiel gave a pathetic look and held his hand palm up, Crowley suddenly grinned and began rummaging in his own pocket for a lighter.

"You did not come all this way for a light, did you?" But he lit the cigarette regardless, then sat up on his knees, leaning closer to Castiel as he reached for the headboard behind him, grabbing an ashtray and putting it down between them. "You sure you don't want anything harder than that?"

Castiel put the cigarette in his mouth, and brushed his palms together. Then he held up four fingers and signed four letters. Crowley frowned for a second before he translated the sign language, "Clean for Dean?" Castiel blew out smoke and nodded.

He held his hand pantomiming a phone to his ear, pointed to himself, then frowned, trying to think of what he wanted to say. In the end, he held his palm up, and brushed the fingers of his other hand across his palm.

Crowley frowned harder, narrowing his eyes as he said, "When he calls to forgive you? Forgive you. You should have to forgive him for being a giant ignoramus."

Castiel looked in his hands, holding his palm flat, making scissors with the other hand, like he was scissors cutting paper.

"Who the fuck cares if you cheated? You did it for him. You do everything for him, and I…" Crowley growled but Castiel shook his head. Signing _clean_ over again. Crowley made another sound – an annoyed but defeated thing – and said, "Well fine, angel. No hard drugs for you. But you can smoke your lungs black. We'll get you a lighter."

A few hours later, Castiel was curled in Crowley's bed all the way at one side, noticing how the expensive sheets felt so uncomfortable without Dean, when he heard Crowley's phone ring from the other side of the room. It took the boy a few moments to answer, but when he offered a, "Yeah?" Castiel could tell he'd been asleep on the couch.

"Yeah, Luci. Your brother's here," after a short pause, Crowley let out a small, bitter laugh and said, "No, you idiot. He's in the bed and I'm on the fucking couch. Okay? I'm not completely heartless. We had a deal, and the deal is done. I won't touch him again unless he wants me to." There was a longer pause, then, "Hey, Luce. Do you think that Dean'll forgive him and take him back?" Castiel didn't like the answer Lucifer must have said because Crowley asked, "Do you think he'd go to London with me next week? He should get out of here for a while. He hasn't spoken since it happened, and… no, you're right. I'll just… can't hurt to ask, right?… alright, I'll make sure he gets to school tomorrow. Ta, darling."

When the phone hit the table, Crowley groaned but otherwise calmed rather quickly. Castiel knew he didn't snore – he was seriously grateful for that – but he sort of wished he could hear the other boy's breathing ease and turn steady. If he heard it, he could imagine it was Dean's, and maybe he could fall asleep for once.

Instead, he just shut his eyes and pretended.

From outside the Crowley Mansion, a car door slammed, and Byron was up and running at the door. Castiel took a moment to wipe his eyes, trying really hard to make it seem like he wasn't upset by the story, and stood. He caught Byron before he reached the door and swooped him in his arms, forcing a smile and bouncing him slightly.

"I think that means Daddy's home," he added, cheerfully.

The blond boy gave a happy squeal. I shoved my notebook and pens back into my bag, and Castiel led the way to the foyer. It was so much different than he described it – literally nothing, save the grand piano – remained the same. Everything was expensive, but everything was different.

The door opened before Castiel could remove the locks. It swung open an inch, before it caught on the chains. "Bollocks," the owner of the house exclaimed. "Cassie, get those for me." The man behind the door slammed it shut once again, and Castiel worked quickly on the locks.

This time when the door opened, Byron gave an almighty lurch toward his father. Balthazar opened his arms and took his son from his brother. Bela followed in quickly, reaching out her hand to the boy. He latched on, pulling at her wedding ring.

"Did you take care of Uncle Cassie?" Balthazar asked.

Byron looked back at his uncle for a moment, before he rested his head on his father's shoulder. "Cazzie cryin."

"No, I'm not," Castiel hissed, grabbing his coat, reaching for his phone. Balthazar grinned at him but Castiel shot back, "I was not."

Balthazar glanced toward the living room and his grin widened, "Aw, you don't have to let the big scary writer make you cry, big brother. It doesn't matter what happened back then, remember? You're happy now, right?"

"Yes," Castiel admitted. "Although, I still hate it that you had to buy Anthony's house."

"It was the biggest house in the vicinity of yours," Balthazar admitted, handing his son to his wife. She bid them goodnight and took the boy upstairs to get ready for bed. "And I can't move and lose my favorite babysitter."

"I rue the day you learned you could make a fortune using you forgery skills in a legitimate profession," Castiel admitted, turning his eyes back on me. "I like living in an average sized house. Do you live in an average sized house?"

"I… uh…"

Balthazar snorted, "I thought you were shaking up with Gabe in an apartment down the street from where you grew up."

"Uh… I got to go. Bale, would it be okay if I had an interview with you sometime? It's getting close to your arms deal, and I'd love it if…"

"Yes, of course," Balthazar waved the question away. "It's about time you've gotten me in this some more. I am, after all, the star of the story."

Castiel laughed and tried to walk past his brother, but the other Novak caught him, pulling him into a hug. It wasn't abnormal to see the Novaks respond affectionately to each other anymore. It was like they were making up for lost time when they were kids. Gabriel was the worst of them. Last time he got in the same room as Balthazar, it resulted in a hug-turned-wrestling match that only ended when Byron insisted he join and Balthazar helped his son pin his brother to the floor. Castiel relaxed into the hug, patting his brother's back before pulling away.

"See you next week, Bale," Castiel called as he led the way out of the house. The younger brother hummed and shut the door. Castiel pulled the coat tighter around his body, looking over at his blue car. Even though he wasn't looking, when he spoke, I knew he was speaking to me. To try and justify it all, just like he always did, "I am happy now, you know? But that doesn't make my past any less painful. I regret so much of that year. I regret…"

Castiel sighed and looked down, but promptly looked back up when he heard me laugh. I offered a wink. I hadn't been close to them in school, not really. But with the novel, they were opening up, telling me things. I was a weasel who was forcing my way into their lives, but they didn't really seem to mind. "No day but today, right, Cas?"

Castiel laughed, rolling his eyes, and opening his car door. "That is what they say, yes. Good night."

"Yeah, night."

* * *

"Good night, brothers. May the Lord be with you."

"And also with you," Balthazar and Gabriel recited back. Michael watched for a moment as the youngest members of his flock settled into bed. Then he shut the door and opened Castiel's bedroom.

It never changed. Where was he living now? With Lucifer in the decrepit Church, or…

Michael shut the door and started climbing the stairs. Keeping the family together was difficult. There were too many of them, and it was his fault Lucifer was gone. His brother came to him and asked Michael to stand with him. Michael beat him down and cast him out. It would have been easier to take a stand. To hug his brother – accept him, love him – and fight alongside him.

But he tried to think, _what would father want_ and that dictated his choices. That night after the party, he prayed and prayed all night, debating his options, wanting answers. In the end, Lucifer defied their father, and he betrayed Michael. But still. He practically raised Lucifer – all of his fits, all of his rage – Michael was always the one to step in and try to help. They didn't even know how bad it got. Michael took care of him in a way that most people could never understand. And he still loved him. But he had to keep fighting him, because it was right.

And he had to.

He didn't bother knocking on Uriel and Raphael's bedroom door. He pushed it open. Raphael looked up from his computer to give a friendly nod, but Uriel and Zachariah didn't pause their game. Michael flopped down on Raphael's empty bed and watched as his brothers searched for other army men to shoot and kill.

It was nice, being close to his older siblings. The three of them moved in a pack when he was younger. The twins perfectly happy to be on their own, but Zachariah was often egging them on, using his age as a weapon: follow me or else. Michael spent all his time growing up with Lucifer. And even if four should be a more stable number than three, Michael still felt like he was the odd man out at times. He missed his twin.

"Did you know that Castiel and Dean Winchester broke up?" Raphael suddenly asked. The older Novaks ignored him but Michael turned his head and nodded. Raphael sighed, turned back to his computer and said, "That's too bad."

"I don't understand," Michael frowned, looking at the ceiling. "When Lucifer tried to kiss Sam, I acted in a blind rage. I wanted to kill him. I have been fighting for ridding the school of Lucifer's influences. But when I found out about Castiel, I almost choked Dean Winchester to death when I demanded answers for hurting our brother. Why did I care so much about what Lucifer might be but not Castiel?"

"You asshole," Uriel growled, elbowing Zachariah in the side.

Raphael turned back to his bed, tipping in the chair slightly as he brought his hands together, pointer fingers resting on his chin in thought. "Maybe because it was a surprise with Lucifer. We always knew with Castiel."

Michael shrugged. That didn't seem fair. It didn't seem right.

"I don't think Lucifer kissing a boy is the focus of your concern, Michael," Raphael admitted. "Or at least it shouldn't be. That is one sin in a sea of sins. Look at what he's doing. He sells drugs to the hopeless; he sells women for profit. He preaches peace and equality, but makes children fight for his amusement. For money. Mother told us she gave us our names for a reason. That we were warriors for God. That we are like the angels. And Lucifer knew how this would end from the moment our mother gave him his name."

Michael looked back at the game. He wanted Castiel home. He wanted Lucifer home. Michael wanted his family back.

"Are you willing to do what you need to do, Michael? What our father intended for you to do?"

"Yes," Michael said. "Because I am a good son."

But he kept watching his older brothers slaughter their enemies, and he felt his heart swell painfully in his chest.

* * *

It had been a week. Thursday, February 7th marked a week that they had been broken up and it wasn't getting any easier for either of them. February break started after school tomorrow.

Castiel was sure he was dying.

His mother followed him almost constantly, whispering to him, encouraging him to take drugs, find their father, and her threats were becoming cruel. How he didn't deserve anything. How he should just end it all and join her. Even when he was curled up next to Lucifer, with both of them faking sleep, Castiel couldn't tell him that he saw their mother. That their mother rubbed his back, her fingers twitched through his hair, as she whispered where Lucifer hid knives _just in case_.

He needed Dean. He wanted Dean. And Dean wasn't calling.

It was pouring that Thursday night when he left Lucifer and Sam in the Church and walked the familiar path to the Winchester home. His mother was surprisingly silent along the trek, abandoning him for the time being. Twenty minutes later when he knocked on the Winchester's door, he was soaked to the bone. His hair clung to his head, rivulets of rain water poured over his face. His tan coat was a saturated dark brown; his hands were white and pruned. When Dean opened the door, he was wearing a t-shirt and the heat from inside the home hit Castiel like a brick. He leaned into it despite himself.

Dean huffed, backed up, and tried to slam the door.

Castiel reached his arms out, holding the door open just a sliver. He heard Dean grunt from the other side and lurch forward, trying to overpower the other boy. Dean would do anything to keep Castiel out, and the thought made the younger boy's chest clench and he cried out, "Please!"

The sound of his own voice was foreign to him. It croaked, and the second it was out of his throat, he started coughing. He took a step back, clenching at his neck, trying to work out the itch that the word put in his throat. When he could breathe again, he straightened up and looked at the door. Dean had it open, but still covering a quarter of his body. His eyes were shining with tears that weren't falling. There was concern in them that he couldn't mask, despite the harshness of his voice when he demanded, "What?"

"I should've told you," Castiel started, lamely. He was shaking in his skin, chin pressed against his chest, eyes raised to peer at the boy before him.

"You're damn fucking right you should have told me," Dean hissed, hitting his hand against the door jamb; Castiel winced, took a step back, and ducked his head lower.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're playing sorry," Dean's voice was low, but Castiel still flinched and took another step back. But he lifted his head, looking from under his bangs at Dean. He was furious, hurt. Like he still didn't understand. "You're only sorry that you got caught."

"That's not true," Castiel said. "I love you. You needed money, and I knew I could get some. I asked you – twice – if you were sure. If you wanted me to do this. And you said yes."

"I didn't know you were going to spread it for some British dick," Dean yelled, frowning and darting his eyes around to see if anyone heard him. And maybe that was why something in Castiel snapped. But suddenly, he was pushed against Dean. Castiel's wet clothes soaked Dean's shirt, but the taller boy didn't push him away.

"I have only ever done what you asked me to," Castiel's eyes darted from one of Dean's eyes to the other, standing so close his whole face wasn't even in focus. He searched him for something, and Castiel's jaw set when he seemingly didn't find it. "Always. I always did what you asked. I subjected myself to Crowley for you, and I walked back to you – broken, hurt, _guilty_ – after I sold myself for a thousand dollars and do you remember the thanks you gave me? 'Go away, Cas. I can't come out to my dad tonight.' So we never told anyone. Or… or… when you found out I was taking drugs. I wasn't given a choice. I was told to stop. Whatever you wanted, Dean. I did whatever you wanted. Despite the fact my mother died, or my brother tried to kill himself, or I see things that aren't there. Your problems always come first."

Dean was glaring, but his bottom lip was between his teeth.

"I slipped once with the drugs. Once in four weeks. For a heroin junkie, that is phenomenal."

Dean's eyes jumped from Castiel's lips to his eyes. "Really? All week… you've been clean? Why? I figured you…"

"Because I kept hoping you'd find me," Castiel's hand pressed against Dean's now damp shirt, pushing over his heartbeat. "And that you'd forgive me… save me."

"Cas," Dean suddenly breathed, his hand reaching up, and Castiel shut his eyes. He imagined Dean grabbing the back of his neck, pulling them together, their lips touching, and everything would be forgiven. Castiel would give up the drugs for Dean. He'd give up Crowley. He'd give Dean everything until there was nothing left, and if Dean needed the shirt from his back or the blood in his veins, Castiel would give him that too.

But their lips never touched. Dean's hand never made it to Castiel's neck.

"You smoking again?"

Castiel's eyes opened. Dean's were insanely green and incredibly close through half-lidded eyes. They were sharing air, but Dean had probably smelled the chain smoking on him the minute he opened the door. Castiel murmured his positive, digging into his pocket to fetch the pack. It was a different pack. He blew through the first one in a day and a half. He slid it into Dean's hand.

"Don't need to anymore if you don't want me to."

Dean smirked.

Things would have been different if Castiel had been able to think of anything all week other than staying clean and getting Dean back. Maybe he would know better – known that his actions had consequences – and it certainly wouldn't have been perfect. If Castiel hadn't been so fucking stupid, and he and Dean could kiss and make up right then and there. Things wouldn't have been rainbows and sprinkles – Castiel knew his sins and knew he didn't deserve Dean's forgiveness – but they could have tried.

Instead, Dean looked down at the pack of cigarettes in his hand, a frown forming on his lips, his eyebrows crinkling in confusion. He lifted the pack between them, pushing Castiel back a step in the process. He flipped the top back and reached inside.

The pack was mostly empty, but Dean didn't grab a cigarette. He pulled out the lighter.

It looked like a regular bic, but it was painted to look like the British flag. Dean suddenly clenched it in his hand, growling, and Castiel wasn't sure what went wrong. Dean put the lighter back in the pack and shook it accusingly at Castiel.

"You've been fucking with him still?"

"What?" Castiel asked, before he remembered where he got the lighter. He scowled back, "No, I'm not."

"Then why the fuck do you have his lighter?" He shoved Castiel, maybe harder than he meant to or maybe it was because Castiel didn't expect it, but the smaller boy stumbled a few feet, trying to regain his balance. He only stayed upright because his back hit one of the poles holding the roof over the porch.

"I needed a lighter, Dean," Castiel winced.

"A fucking lighter, you don't get it at all do you?" Dean threw the pack at Castiel, and it hit his chest and fell to the floor. "This isn't about me and what I asked of you. This isn't about money. This is about you and fucking Crowley. It doesn't matter what you file what you did under, you still went to someone else and had sex with him while we were dating. I can't forgive you for that, and you're not even sorry for it. Not if you've even looked at him this past week. Jesus Christ, Cas, it's been a _week_. So go fuck yourself – hell, go fuck _him_ for all I care – we are done. No more chances. And don't come back here again."

Castiel picked up the pack of cigarettes and shoved them in his pocket. When he straightened out, he was surprised to see Dean hadn't shut the door. But he wasn't looking at him either. Instead, he took a step outside, onto the porch, and wrapped his arms around his chest to protect his bare arms from the cold.

"You coming in, half-pint? You'll catch your death out here."

Castiel turned around. Gabriel was halfway between the sidewalk and the porch, looking uncomfortable and soaked. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face and slicking it back. It was starting to curl at the bottom, and Castiel wasn't sure when the last time he saw his youngest brother was.

Gabriel was giving him a look, somewhere between political neutrality and pity, before he turned his attention back to Dean. He forced a smile and started walking toward the porch, "Do you have like, a shirt or something I can borrow, Manly? I think I've soaked through this one."

Dean stood back, keeping the door open and arm's length away as Gabriel walked under his arm. The older boy glared at Castiel for a minute longer before saying, "Yeah, I'll grab you one," and slammed the door.

Castiel left the porch, already soaked, and started making his way back toward the school.

* * *

The candle on the bedside was the only light in the room on besides the TV, but the candle was closer to his mother and bathed her in better light. Her hair was straight, pulled back into a pony tail. She had a blanket wrapped around her chest, pulled up between her arms. Her back rose and fell with each deliberate, deep breath, and Crowley leaned against the headboard, running a finger over the back of his mother's hand.

Her eyes opened, and she looked up at him with a level of love that he only saw when they were alone and Crowley visited her when she wasn't feeling all herself. Crowley had to look away, look up at the light fixture that was off anyway, and wonder why the fuck he always ended up here.

"You are a prince," his mother said, her eyes fluttering behind her eyelids, before she pushed her face down into the pillows, shutting her eyes once more. "Don't forget how much you mean to me."

Crowley mumbled a noncommittal answer, and focused on his breathing. He never thought sitting with his mother like this could get more painful. Years… he spent years watching out for her. He was fifteen when he noticed – but she'd been like this a lot longer before that – but now, it was harder. He couldn't look at her without seeing…

Crowley closed his eyes, letting the wood of the headboard dig painfully in his back as punishment.

There was a knock on the door, but his mother didn't even move. Crowley looked at the door as it opened, and predictably, his father popped his head in. He frowned at the sight – his only begotten son sitting next to his wife as she slept – but nodded toward the hall. Crowley blew out the candle on the bedside and inched his way off the bed, joining his father in the hall.

"Your bedroom window locked?"

Crowley nodded, flexing his shoulders and stretching his arms, trying to shake the pain from his back. He was too young for this shit. "Why?"

"Your wayward angel is sitting on our front porch smoking a cigarette."

"Were you outside? Did he knock or anything?" Crowley asked.

His father shook his head, a grin spreading over his face. "No, I just happened to walk by and look out. You may want to invite him in, though. He's soaked. I'll watch over your mom for a bit."

By the time Crowley opened the door, Castiel had finished his cigarette and watched as the embers burned out at the filter. He didn't even turn to look at him, but he looked miserable, defeated, worse than he ever looked as a junkie.

He flicked the butt into the yard and stood, peeling off his jacket. "Do you have some clothes I could change into?" His fingers started working on the buttons on his shirt, but Crowley reached for his wrist and tugged him toward the warm house. His breath hitched at the sound of his angel's voice – so broken, so defeated, so _done –_ and Crowley wondered if it had really been a week since they spoke aloud to one another.

"It's just a house, angel. Don't worry about dripping. It'll get clean." Crowley shut the door and led Castiel toward the basement. It was certainly cooler by a few degrees, but it beat being outside. Crowley opened his dresser, digging through for some clothes Castiel could wear. He settled on a pair of pajamas that would probably be too short for him, and the Kings of Leon t-shirt he wore at the bar in England. When he held them over to Castiel, the younger boy had his coat, his shirt, and his pants draped over different barstools. It was already starting to puddle on the hardwood floor, but Crowley couldn't care less. He really fucking couldn't care less.

Castiel was bigger than he was a month ago by maybe fifteen pounds but his ribs still stuck out of his chest, his collar bones looked like they were trying to escape, and his hip bones poked from the top of his boxers. He was walking back over to Crowley before he noticed the older boy ogling him. When he took the clothes from his friend, he noticed the sharp intake of breath, the way Crowley's vision was still placed firmly on his chest.

Castiel dumped the shirt on the bed and stepped into the pajamas, frowning at Crowley as he pulled it up his hips. "You have seen me in further states of undress before," and when Crowley didn't answer, Castiel grabbed the shirt saying, "I believe if you would take a picture it would last longer."

The shirt was over his chest and Crowley started breathing again, eyes finally returning to Castiel's face. "You know you're really beautiful, angel?"

Castiel snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "Did you buy me a ticket to London? I think it would be good if I got out of here for a while."

Crowley nodded. Ten minutes later found Castiel with a needle in his arm and Crowley on the phone to a tailor in London, giving him Castiel's measurements. For what, Castiel didn't know. But as he sank into Crowley's couch, pulling the blanket up and over his shoulders, letting his eyes close and heroin fueled rest overcome him, he didn't really care.

* * *

Lucifer loved the way Sam Winchester's hand felt in his own. How the rain soaked through his own jacket, dampened his hair, but Sam was warm under his brother's leather hand-me-down. How his hand felt like it was on fire. How it felt like his heart could explode in his chest, just knowing the younger boy trusted him enough – loved him enough – to be willing to be seen holding his hand in public.

Sam led them up the steps and only dropped his hand to open the door. His arm was still in the sling from the fight a week ago after all.

The sound of cackling was a level of disturbing and heartbreaking that Lucifer wasn't sure he was able to reach.

Dean was doubled over on the couch, in jeans and a t-shirt, clenching a beer in one hand and Gabriel's knee in the other. The youngest Novak had a disturbingly cocky smile on his face, fingers itching at the hair at the base of Dean's neck. When the older Winchester sat up, tears were streaming from his face, presumably in laughter, and the look of pure familial affection he sent Gabriel made something tighten in Lucifer. Something that made him hate his youngest brother. Wanted to grab him by the back of the neck and throw him into the rain.

Sam tensed before him, trying to cross his arms but the effect was severely undermined by the sling. Instead, his hand found his hip and he leaned forward, giving an almighty bitchface to the pair on the couch. "What's going on here?"

Dean wiped his eyes, and Gabriel took a long drag on a bottle of beer that caused Sam to shuffle his weight even more uncomfortably. "Nothin'," Dean said, shooting another glance at Gabriel before returning his attention to his brother. "Gabe just told me this funny thing, and…"

"I'm a genius," Gabriel said, grabbing Dean's empty beer and standing. "You want another, Manly?"

Dean was drunk – he had to be drunk, he was giving the wrong Novak lovey eyes – but he leaned back and breathed, "Always."

Lucifer walked after his youngest brother to the kitchen, followed him to the refrigerator, and refused to move from his personal space so he could shut the appliance. Lucifer glared, and it didn't take more than that for Gabriel to spill.

"Castiel was here when I got here," he whispered. "Dean shoved him, told him he'd never take him back, and by the time I got changed," he gestured to the Led Zep shirt he was donning and the seven sizes too big jeans, "Dean-o was a sobbing mess. It was gross, Luci. I didn't know what to do, so I made him laugh. Where were you and Sam?"

Lucifer decided to dodge the question because _holding hands_ seemed too unmacho and asked, "Why'd you call him Manly? He and Castiel are done for a week and you need to move in already?"

"He calls me half-pint."

"Yeah, Pa calls Laura half-pint. That's platonic. You call him _Manly_ and that's what Laura called her husband," Lucifer frowned.

"I don't even want to know how you know that," Gabriel said, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand that didn't clench two beers.

Lucifer took the beers from him with a growl, "What's your end game, Gabriel?"

Gabriel sighed and grabbed two more beers from the refrigerator, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against it for a second before trying to push his way past his older brother, shoving his shoulder as he goes. "I just want to help my friend be happy, okay? Is that so much to ask from me? He lost his boyfriend. I'm just trying to help fill a void."

"You want Dean to fuck you?" Lucifer asked quietly, before his brother got too far away. Gabriel just paused, his shoulders tensed, and he walked to the living room, handing a beer over to Dean. Lucifer followed, handing one of his over to Sam. Sam raised his eyebrows to him, but Lucifer just shook his head with a shrug.

He had no fucking idea what his brother was playing at.

* * *

Castiel had no clothes, no bags, nothing. Everything he had was at the Winchester's, Lucifer's, or Michael's, and he wasn't checking in anywhere before he boarded the plane. Crowley sort of thought he went to Dean – that Dean confirmed what Crowley thought all along – but the British teen didn't ask. He just packed a bag of his clothes that would hopefully fit, and everything else Castiel needed could be bought in Europe.

He hadn't expected Castiel to take to flying like a bird, but the smaller boy stared out the window nearly the entire time from Lawrence to JFK in New York, only gripping Crowley's hand once he saw the lights of the city burst to life under him.

They only had an hour layover from JFK to LHR, which was barely enough time for them to get their shit off the plane and get to the next terminal. Crowley made time to give Castiel an Oxy for the longer flight. It was a six hour flight that once time zones got crossed, felt like twelve. There was something off-putting, leaving a place at 8 am and arriving at 8 pm, but Castiel went without complaint, even when Crowley's parents took a different taxi because they were going to the hotel, but Crowley and Castiel were going straight to the tailor's.

Which was an interesting experience.

Castiel was tired and high, but it felt more like six pm than eight. Then again, he was used to losing a few hours here and there. They walked into the tailor's and Crowley started talking to the blond boy – about a year younger than Castiel – at the front of the store. Castiel sat his bag full of Crowley's clothes down and sat back against the chair even though he felt like he'd been sitting for years. He watched the interaction. The kid knew Crowley, obviously, but was also not impressed by him. He had blond hair was longer than Castiel's and curly, had glasses, was smartly dressed, and had an old book across the counter that he kept trying to return to, but that Crowley kept distracting him from it.

When Crowley returned, Castiel grumbled at him about being tired and how his high was leaving him. Instead of responding in a typical Crowley fashion (staring inappropriately, making homoerotic comments, feeding him full of drugs, etc.) Crowley was still looking over the counter at the tailor's boy.

"Phil," he'd told Castiel. "Herbie doesn't want to be a dentist."

"What?" Castiel hissed.

Crowley sighed, "That Christmas show, you know? The one with the island of misfit toys?" when Castiel still shook his head, Crowley explained. Phil didn't want to be a tailor, but wanted to study literature in college and open a book shop. But he also loved classical music.

Castiel didn't stop the "He sounds mega-gay. You should fuck him," comment, (and certainly didn't care if Crowley followed through with it), but before he could see if Crowley would take the bait, Phil's father called them around back. It was a clean, small shop, not at all what Castiel imagined Crowley's tailor to be like. The man was small, and he handed Castiel some clothes and pointed to the privacy partition.

Despite how rich his family was growing up, Castiel didn't have tailor-made clothing. His suit hung from his frame (even more since the heroin) and hid him like a cape. As he pulled on the pants and buttoned his shirt, he noticed how well everything fit him, how it fit like a second skin.

But as he looked in the mirror, he suddenly realized he had no idea why Crowley dragged him to a tailor's shop right of the plane. He walked around from behind the partition, still fumbling with the buttons on his vest, but the tailor seemed adamant at pushing him back behind the screen.

"It's fine," Castiel said. "It's not even my bare chest, and he's seen mine enough. No sweat." Crowley frowned at him, but Castiel didn't much care. The least he could do was out Crowley, since the boy totally helped to fuck up his one shot at happiness and all. "So why are we here?" He asked as he finished buttoning the vest. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror as he buttoned it up. Even without the suit jacket, he looked damn rich. It fit him perfectly. He wondered how much this would cost his friend, considering he just sent the measurements in yesterday.

"I have a family gala or whatever that I have to go to. You can't go in jeans, and certainly not mine that fall off your ass. So suit it is. Sorry." Crowley said from his position at the corner, arms wrapped around himself, peering out into the front room. When he turned and looked, a grin broke out on his face, his teeth white behind his lips. "You look like Neal Caffrey."

Castiel looked himself over in the mirror, before grinning and tugging at his sleeves.

"Does that make you Peter or Mozzie?"

"Ha-Fucking-Ha," Crowley countered, before the tailor started making adjustments.

* * *

Lucifer was strumming away at the guitar, trying to figure out this new song when Sam made a strange noise and shifted the MacBook sitting across his lap. They were both sitting on the Winchester's couch – John was making dinner in the kitchen, Dean was at work – just comfortable to share a room silently with one another. Lucifer leaned closer to whatever offended Sam, frowning when he saw it was just Crowley's Facebook page.

"What?" Lucifer asked, but then he saw it. He wasn't winning any brother-of-the-year awards, but he had a feeling where Castiel was. He sort of figured when Gabriel told him about the re-official break up and the fact that he'd been AWOL for 48 hours. The picture of Castiel in a really nice suit, smiling next to Crowley just proved that Castiel had fled the country.

"He's in London with Crowley?" Sam asked, frowning in a guilty way that suggested he hadn't been thinking about the boy as much as he thought he should have been.

"Guess so," Lucifer said, scrolling through the pictures. They all looked platonic – they were never touching, never even close to touching – but his brother was high. He could tell by the grin, by the way his eyes got big and crazy, like he could see everything if he could just open his eyes wide enough. "Guess it'll do him good to get away and clear his head."

Sam shut the laptop down with righteous fury, shoving it onto the coffee table next to Lucifer's feet. He huffed as he sat back, and Lucifer tried to tell himself that Sam pouting wasn't adorable, but the swell in his heart told him otherwise. "Castiel is a moron."

"Hey," Lucifer lowered his head to the guitar. He hated this. Hated being stuck between the Winchesters and his brother. Because he wasn't Michael, and he loved Sam with everything he had. He'd defend Castiel to the death, but he didn't want to lose Sam to keep his brother. It was exhausting to play the middle man. "Just, let's not talk about it, okay?"

"No, I mean… yeah, your brother's a moron but mine's an idiot, too. This whole thing is stupid. But Castiel isn't the only one to blame, and Dean's being a dick about it," Sam looked up from between his bangs, sinking himself lower in the couch. "This is my fault, and it's dad's fault, and Crowley's fault. And Dean's too."

"You have to forgive your brother," Lucifer said quietly, adjusting the way he was sitting so he was sideways and cross-legged on the couch, facing Sam. "What would you do if I was screwing someone else to get you money that you desperately needed?"

"I'd be pissed, I really would. And I don't know what I'd do, but something would have driven you to that. And Cas is a mess. Dean's lucky he went to Crowley instead of robbing a bank and ended up getting shot or something. In his state of mind, anything could have happened." Sam frowned for a moment, before adding, "Are you?"

"Fuck no, Sam," Lucifer ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even further. "I haven't… um… been with anyone since I drew that star on you." He nodded toward the boy's exposed wrist, where the sharpied star still marked him. Suddenly embarrassed, Lucifer started picking at chord on his guitar again, but he felt the couch move as Sam perked up into the confession.

"Really? Why not?"

"I was yours from that moment," Lucifer switched from a g-chord to a d-chord, working on the up-strum. Focusing anywhere but Sam. "I couldn't even think about anyone else, let alone… look, I don't want to talk about this again. As you are both shorter and younger than me, that would make _you_ the uke, and I'm not talking about my feelings anymore."

Sam smirked, shifting closer to the other boy so even when he was staring straight down at the guitar, Sam's hip was in his line of vision. Then Sam's hand was running over the back of the hand strumming and Lucifer broke and looked at the other boy. His boyfriend.

Finally, his boyfriend.

Sam was smiling at him like nothing in the world mattered but here and now, and Lucifer smiled despite himself. That is, until Sam's face fell once more, and he turned Lucifer's palm over in his hand, leaning back against the couch with only the guitar between them.

"It just sucks. It blows, and I get that, but Dean had never been happier than when he was with Cas. I was pissed when I found out, I would have kicked your brother's ass that first night, but I sort of figured they'd work it out," Sam sighed, fitting his palm against Lucifer's, lining them up, and observing the way the blond boy's hands were larger than his own. "I planned their wedding in my head. I was that sure they were gonna make it."

Lucifer sighed, separating his fingers and lacing them through Sam's. He wanted to put the guitar down, but he didn't want to break the contact. He just wanted to pull the boy to his chest and tell him everything would be okay. But he promised he would never lie to him.

A gruff sounding _ahem_ came from the kitchen, and Lucifer jumped like he had been burned, flailing as he tried to rip his hand from Sam's. The smaller boy glared at him, gripping his hand impossibly tighter until Lucifer conceded and calmed down. Apparently, Sam wasn't his brother and refused to make his mistakes of attempting to hide.

"Does that mean Dean and Cas really broke up?" John asked, arms crossed at his chest, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Um… how long have you been there?" Lucifer asked, because something about the whole _I've had a big crush on you since September_ thing was kind of embarrassing.

"Not long," John said, and then gestured to the two of them. "How long have you two been together?"

"Not… long," Lucifer's back felt like he had run it under cold water – so cold it burned – and the feeling crawled over his neck and he was pretty sure the blush reached his face. So he just looked down at the guitar again, wishing he could mostly just disappear.

"Dad, listen, we…"

John walked toward them, sitting unnecessarily close on the end table. His knees basically reached the couch, and Lucifer tried again to pull his hand away under the close gaze. Sam growled – actually fucking growled – and Lucifer kept staring at an interesting chip in the neck of his guitar.

"No, boys, you listen to me. I have done a lot of things in my life that I'm sure-as-shit not proud of. I'm not in the position to judge you – either of you – but even if I was, this isn't something that's a judging matter. Because it doesn't fucking matter who you hold hands with or sleep with or get married to –"

"Dad!"

"– No, Sammy, you listen. I didn't get to say this to Dean, so I'm saying it to you now. It doesn't fucking matter, okay? As long as you're happy. I spent too much time pissed off and hurt about losing your mother, and if you think something stupid like who you're in love with is going to drag us apart again, you better try harder and bring someone home a lot worse than Lucifer."

Lucifer was very, very aware that John had turned his attention on him, even before he said, "And Lucifer – boy, you better look at me when I'm talking to you."

"Yes, sir," Lucifer breathed as he turned to face him, still opting to look at his mouth instead of in the eye. The last two times a situation involving Sam happened around him, Michael had hurt him. Beaten him, yelled at him. He couldn't help but associate himself with other people's fury.

"Son, you don't have to be afraid of me. Unless you hurt my boy, you understand. I never got to threaten your brother, but if you hurt Sammy, I will hurt you."

"Dad," Sam hissed. "Seriously, I can handle myself. I can outrun him, and I'm pretty sure I could take him in a fistfight."

"First of all, you ran faster than me one time, so that doesn't count. And also, no way you could take me in a fistfight. No way," Lucifer added, glaring at Sam. John just smiled. "And second of all, if I ever hurt Sam, I'd…" Sam squeezed, and Lucifer changed _hurt myself_ to, "deserve it."

"Right," John said. "So, I have literally no idea how the birds and the bees talk goes when _don't get her pregnant_ isn't an issue, so…"

Lucifer gave an almighty tug and finally slipped his hand free of Sam's grasp. He nearly flung himself over the arm rest of the couch in the process, and managed to drop the guitar onto the floor and out of his lap, but at least the flailing was a semi-victory. "With all due respect," he choked out. "This is new to us too, and I think we're just going to wait. Like a long time. Like maybe forever."

"Not forever," Sam made a grab for his hand, and Lucifer frowned, hiding them behind his back, pinning them between the arm rest and his back. Sam tugged on his arm, but Lucifer growled at him. Sam dropped it, but poked him in the chest, adding, "Not forever."

"For long enough. Like after we're married."

"Are you joking?" Sam yelled. "This isn't the freaking middle ages, you know?"

"We're waiting, Sam," Lucifer yelled back. "It doesn't matter how long; it just matters not right now."

Sam huffed, obviously wanting to get the last word in, but he suddenly remembered his dad was sitting right there, and John was white behind his beard. He was pointedly looking into his hands. When he realized they were done, he glanced up, barking out a short laugh at the apologetic look Sam was sending him as opposed to Lucifer, pushing himself away from Sam with a glare of _ihateyouihateyou_.

Where they sure they were dating? They seemed more like they were in a vaguely homoerotic buddy cop movie, but maybe that was the beauty of it. That despite the new development that apparently included sometimes hand-holding but not much more, they were still very much the two boys who joked over Thanksgiving dinner and bickered through Christmas.

"You know, I came in here to ask about Dean and Cas though. So they've broken up?"

Lucifer's hate-glare evened out, and he slowly turned his head to face John. He looked guilty and still a little bit afraid, "Castiel cheated on Dean, and Dean broke up with him."

"That's such a one-sided answer, you jerk. It's more complicated than that," Sam sighed. "He did it for us. We needed money to…" Lucifer snapped a hand over his mouth, the glare returning. Sam grabbed the wrist with his un-slinged arm and shoved it to the left. He hit the inside of Lucifer's elbow, causing the arm to buckle and he pinned the wrist against the other boy's knee. Maybe he was right. Maybe John should tell Lucifer that if Sam ever hurt him, he'd also go to his defense, instead.

"It's not fair," Lucifer hissed. "He doesn't need to know why."

"That sounds like I do," John amended, and it was law.

"We needed money to bail you out of jail, and Cas was tripping out of his mind. Like, he almost overdosed that day. So he said, 'I can get us a thousand dollars, are you sure that's what you want?' and Dean said, 'yeah' and Cas made a deal with Crowley – that's his dealer – that he'd sleep with him for a thousand dollars. Well, a hundred each. So ten times. Dean found out and broke up with him," he shot Lucifer a look. "People have been forgiven for worse things."

"And people have been denied forgiveness for lesser things."

Sam's hand slipped up the wrist, sliding into the blond boy's hand again. "I'm sorry about Michael."

"It's entirely your fault," he said honestly, but smiled. "But I wouldn't trade it. I'd rather have you."

"It's my fault," John said, eyes back at his hands again. "I knew I was going to fuck it up again. I just didn't think… I didn't think it would be like that."

"It's not your fault," Lucifer said. "Not entirely. If my brother was sober, he'd have come to me. I would have only charged him, like, half what Crowley charged him," Sam snorted, even if John gave him a weird, grossed out look, so Lucifer counted his incest joke as a victory. "The point is that Castiel chose to be high. He chose to go to Crowley, and he chose that deal. Therefore, Dean has a choice to forgive him or not."

"But, if it wasn't for me, if you boys didn't need the money, would Cas have done it?"

"No," Sam said. "He loved Dean."

"Well, he certainly doesn't love Crowley. It wasn't an emotional affair – it was strictly business," Lucifer ran a thumb over the back of Sam's hand. "But something would have happened. We would always end up here. This was meant to happen. We just have to have faith that there's a good reason and everything will work out in the end."

"Faith?" Sam breathed. "I think that's the first time you mentioned faith since Michael. I…" a hand found its way to Lucifer's collar bone, and John stood, starting to walk back to the kitchen, when Sam called out to him. "Dad?"

"Yeah, son?"

Lucifer was looking down into Sam's hand, and the love was evident on his face. It was more obvious with him than it was with Dean or Castiel – and John was sure those boys still loved each other – but the way Lucifer looked at Sam was all-consuming. John didn't doubt the things Lucifer would do for Sam. He'd take a bullet, happily. He'd follow him around, always. Lucifer would never have a life that didn't center around Sam. If Sam wasn't around, he wouldn't have a life.

"Don't tell Dean about us, okay? We… we're gonna tell him. Just not right yet. Not with Cas and all…"

John nodded and walked the rest of the way to the kitchen. The food was done – it was past done, probably burnt – but he just got everything ready in a daze.

He had taken the one thing that he'd ever seen make Dean happy, and he ripped it from him.

This was entirely his fault.

But Lucifer was right, Dean had a choice. He could forgive Castiel his misdeed, and John would gladly take all the blame on his own shoulders, if it meant that Dean could forgive Castiel and be happy again.

* * *

Once and a while, when Castiel was much younger, he remembered having family picnics. These were cook-outs in his back yard with the extended family present. The worst cousins were his father's sister's kids. She married a man named Cupid and the jokes never really stopped. One time, Gabriel dared the youngest Cupid to run around the house naked, and despite being hilarious, it ended with Gabriel in meditation and his cousin nearly tethered to his mother for the rest of the day.

But apparently a family get together for the Crowleys resulted in ballrooms in luxurious hotels, circle tables sorted mostly by immediate family, with Crowley's uncles (on his father's side) at the bar. There was a waltz on the floor, but nobody younger than thirty was dancing. The teenagers were spread out over the room, chatting with whoever they dragged there as dates or their immediate family or their noses were buried in their phones.

The second Castiel got in the room he knew he was underdressed, despite the three-piece suit. Other men had on bow-ties, and the girls looked more like they were going to old lady prom. Crowley was underdressed too, but he wore it like a badge of honor. He scanned the room, frowned a bit, and led Castiel out of the ballroom and down the hall. He shoved him into the bathroom, full of marble and looking way classier than any bathroom Castiel had seen before. Crowley checked the stalls for feet before digging in his pockets.

"How you feeling, angel?"

Castiel shrugged, facing himself in the mirror. He pulled off the hat and ran his hand through his hair. He didn't look exhausted or upset – which was surprising considering it had been ten days since Dean broke up with him (three days since it seemed permanent) – but he was high. A steady intake of Oxy did the body good, but he wanted back on heroin. Back like the old days. He could always get higher.

Crowley promised him the whole pile of heroin when they got back to the states. He didn't trust the dealers here.

Crowley dumped a bit of powder on the counter. He grabbed his wallet and pulled out a credit card, pushing the leather toward Castiel. His hands quickly opened the wallet, pulled out a Benjamin, and rolled it into a tube with nostalgia. Once, there was a time when this was disgusting. Now, his hands trembled at the thought of it. As Crowley brushed the hair at the nape of his neck as he bent over the sink toward the cocaine, a flash of something crossed Castiel's mind. How he could bury everything. Shove it down deep under a layer of drugs and quick fucks. Castiel was dying – he was killing himself nice and slow – but why not enjoy the ride?

He pulled up, and Crowley's hand fell away. Castiel passed him the bill, and Crowley took it with shaking hands. He never noticed before… how Crowley shook for it, too. How Crowley was matching him Oxy for Oxy, line for line, and something in Castiel burst. He was on fire. A grin spread on his lips, full of teeth, and he realized that he wasn't going down alone on this sinking ship. Crowley drew up, ran his fingers over his nose, and sighed one of the most contented, drug-addled sighs Castiel ever heard in his life. Brown eyes found blue, and Castiel could feel the spark, feel the desire radiating from the man before him.

Castiel didn't love Crowley. But he could take Crowley down with him.

But he didn't push forward, didn't make a move. Instead, Crowley grinned. "Well, I hope you're feeling better now."

When they got back to the party, nothing had changed. Old people danced, the brothers Crowley (Crowley's uncles) were sitting at the bar while their wives and kids and extended family sat around at tables. Some were eating. Most were drinking. Castiel didn't really like the champagne or the wine, but he drank it with as much class as he could while his feet twitched from the cocaine.

Crowley gave him the run through of the only people who mattered.

The first two were brothers. They lurked near the bar, like they were expecting their uncles and father to ask them to join them. If they were lucky, they'd be given some great task to perform, if they were unlucky, they'd be ignored. The older one was squat – Ligur – and the younger one was tall with a bit of a pyro streak – Hastur.

The other important cousins were sitting directly across the dance floor from them. Their father was at the bar, their mother was on the floor, and three kids sat with bored expressions. The smallest was fourteen or so, pale and blond and easy to over look. Crowley said his name was Albus, but everyone called him Whitey. He was currently playing with the smoke that was coming from the candle in front of him. He sat next to a brother – about eighteen – who had black hair and the starting of a beard. He was thin – very thin – but hunched over and scribbling in a book. Crowley said his name was Sable.

They were joined by their sister – sixteen, but looked twenty-five in her tight dress – with auburn hair curling down her back. She was texting, though she looked mostly bored with it and abandoned the phone on the table, looking around with a mischievous glint in her eye that made Castiel think she was about to start something for entertainment. Her name was Scarlett.

"There's another one of them," Crowley said. "An older brother. But he's working. He's always working."

And Castiel wasn't sure what made him do it. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was the cocaine, but he found himself standing and walking across the floor, approaching the only female Crowley. She knew he was coming long before he got there, she didn't even manage to hide the smirk as she looked her cousin's friend up and down. She expected a come-on, Castiel thought. She looked like a girl who got a lot of come-ons.

"What?" She said, her voice sounding sweet, but there was something underneath that. Something like knives.

"You want to dance?"

"You're American," she stated, raising a perfect eyebrow at him. "A-gee brought an American with him?"

"A-gee?" Castiel asked, and Scarlett snorted.

"He goes by his last name, right? Ha. His name is AJ. Age or A-gee just sounds so much more affectionate," she rolled her eyes and waved across the floor at her cousin. Crowley frowned, pulling out his phone. "And we do love our dear cousin. Even if he has jumped the pond."

"So would you like to dance with me or not?"

Her eyes were like Gabriel's, pinpricks of gold and orange that looked like a sunset among the brown. Her eyebrows frowned at him, then she looked down at herself. Castiel followed. The dress was short and tight and black, designer probably, but then he noticed how her hair was sort of the same shade as his mother's. She looked back up, completely confused, and offered her hand.

"Alright," She said when he took it, her uncertainty clear in her voice. She stood and let Castiel pull her to the floor. She couldn't help but take the lead and seemed even more baffled when Castiel didn't mind following her charge. He wasn't that good at waltzing anyway. But she suffered through it for a while. Until, after having their bodies pressed way too close for a few minutes, she pulled back and held him at arm's length. "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm Castiel," he said, like that was some sort of answer.

Scarlett just laughed.

* * *

On his way to the Winchesters', Lucifer stopped to look into the window at the bakery. He was looking for some sort of pie that Dean would like, but he quickly lost focus when he caught a look at his reflection in the glass. He looked the same, the same as he always did, but the reflection was wearing different clothes. He had more scruff.

His reflection smirked and uncrossed his arms. He was mouthing something, but Lucifer couldn't hear him. The reflection grinned, and pantomimed a gun, two fingers for the barrel, and stuck it under his own chin. He mouthed the words, "You know where to aim, cowboy."

Lucifer turned and started running toward the Winchesters'. It wasn't good – it was never good – when his reflection didn't match what his presumed world was. But they've matched for so long. For so long he had only had to deal with the throw away demon or the angel voices in his head. Not his reflection. That hadn't happened since right before the sanctuary. The night Castiel found him.

And brother dearest was hiding away halfway around the world right now.

Lucifer pounded on the door, and when it opened, revealing Sam's frowning face, Lucifer enveloped him. He crushed his arms around the smaller boy, hoping that it was real. Hoping that he didn't just imagine all of this too.

Sam let him for a minute, before he started wiggling out of his grasp, demanding, "What happened?"

"Nothing," Lucifer sighed, cold hand brushing across Sam's warm cheek. The boy flinched away with a frown, not believing him. "I just was thinking that we should go out."

"What?"

"You and me," he turned to look, but Dean (thankfully) wasn't sitting on the couch to see the display. "Your brother. We could go to the club and get drunk for free. Or, whatever, Sam. I don't care; I just want to go out tonight."

Sam frowned, like he was still thinking about what was wrong, and Lucifer had to stop that. He couldn't drag Sam down with him. Luckily, his tongue worked faster than his brain and he caught himself pressing himself closer to his new boyfriend, singing, _"I've had a knack from way back – breaking the rules once I've learned the game. Get up, life's too quick, I know someplace sick where this chick'll dance in the flames."_

"Lucifer…"

Lucifer pushed back, suddenly pinning Sam to the wall and he wasn't sure how it happened. _"We don't need any money; I always get in for free. And you can get in too, if you get in with me. Let's go oooooouuuuuuut tonight."_

"Stop it," Sam begged, hands pushing none too hard at Lucifer's chest. He wasn't wearing the sling anymore, but he was trying to be gentle with his shoulder. The older boy's mouth snapped shut. A hand on Sam's neck gave him away: the younger boy's heart was beating a mile a minute, and his eyes were wide with awe and desire. He tried to laugh it away, shake his head and push, but it wasn't working, so he changed the subject. "God, I'd pay money to watch Cas sing that."

"Sammy, I'm hurt," Lucifer pouted, satisfied that Sam's thoughts were no longer on whatever brought him here and caused him to want to drink. Instead, he leaned forward, a grin appearing on his lips. "I thought I did a pretty good interpretation of a heroin-junkie stripper, but if you only have eyes for my brother, I'm sure _your_ brother won't mind."

Sam snorted, and with one last push, Lucifer stepped back and out of Sam's personal space. Sam breathed, running a hand through his hair, and once he thought he was safe, Lucifer leaned in, pressing a kiss to the boy's lips. It was chaste – they all were between the two of them – but when he pulled back, Sam looked wrecked.

And Lucifer certainly didn't help it by adding, "If you're good, _I'll let you make me ooooooouuuut tonight._ "

"Oh, God," Sam hissed. "Just go ask Dean if he wants to go. And pray to God he says yes."

And Dean was trying to drink his liver to oblivion since Castiel, so of course he wanted to go. They waited for five minutes for Sam to change into a different pair of jeans and a different shirt to look completely the same. Lucifer went into the bedroom after Sam left and grabbed his white track jacket from the chair. Sam's ears turned red when he walked down the stairs with it on.

And Lucifer was right: going to the club was like a party for the three boys. Lucifer owned the club after all, and if he said the Winchesters drank for free, then they drank for free. And Lucifer didn't seem like he was the only one who was drinking away a problem. The second they sat down at the bar, Dean ordered them a row of fireballs. Sam did two, and Lucifer and Dean each did three. Then it was beers all around.

Rapid shots have an interesting buzz. Which is to say, the transition from normal to _wow, did it just get in hot in here_ , to laughter was about fifteen minutes. By the time Dean was laughing enough around the bottle to spill beer down his front, Gabriel slid into the bar next to him, shooting a wide grin at a frowning Lucifer, and saying (loudly), "Thanks for the invite, Manly."

Dean's grin widened at the sight of his new best friend, wrapping an arm around him and calling for the bartender to bring over more shots. "You said you never get to hang out with your brother, and I though, two of Novaks and two of us Winchesters. The _preferred_ Novaks, too. It all adds up." He slid the shots in front of Gabriel, and despite the fact the boy looked twelve, he wasn't carded. Not in his brother's club.

Gabriel downed the two shots like a champ. That is until he started fidgeting in his seat. More than Castiel, Gabriel loved to dance. And Lucifer really wasn't sure why Gabriel's interest in Dean irked him – maybe because he wanted Dean to forgive Castiel – but there was a small swell in his chest when Gabriel dragged Sam to the dance floor after Dean turned him down six times (adding, "Scram, kid," to the last one.) Dean returned to nursing his second beer – dude was going for a record pace – and Lucifer pulled out his phone.

 **Crowley:** This party sucks. Sitting alone at a table like I'm fucking Steven Glansberg. What're you doing?

Lucifer frowned, but opened up the camera app on his phone. "Take a picture with me," he half demanded, half asked. Dean looked like he was about to object, so Lucifer added. "Seriously, you need to act happy for this photo, okay?"

Already getting drunk, Dean didn't seem to argue. Lucifer held the camera at arm's length and snapped a picture of the two of them. Despite the shit going on, they both looked happy and comfortable. He sent it to Crowley with a brief response.

* * *

Crowley looked incredibly unhappy to have Castiel sitting across from him at the table with Scarlett next to him. Scarlett liked to fight and she seemed to dislike everyone – though Crowley more than most – because she was picking away at Crowley's ego like a vulture. All the while, she kept a hand on Castiel, be it his bicep or his shoulder or his fucking thigh, she seemed to relish the fact that she was stealing Crowley's friend away.

Crowley only didn't point and laugh at her, screaming _he's gay_ because he thought it would be funnier later, when she tried to kiss him and he inevitably had to come out to her.

"The thing is that you want people fighting all the time to keep things from getting dull," Scarlett said, and Castiel was hanging on her every word. "So if a fight doesn't look like it's going to happen on its own, I'll help start one. My favorite is between two men – just a quick kiss can get them all hot and bothered, you know – but bitch fights are great, too."

 **One new picture message from Lucifer:** At the club with the Winchesters and Gabriel. Where is Castiel?

Crowley frowned at the picture. Dean looked so fucking happy, like Castiel meant nothing to him, and Crowley wanted to tear his friggin heart out. That is, until he heard Scarlett giggle and watched as Castiel tucked a stray ringlet of hair behind her ear. Maybe Castiel needed some reminding. And if Dean looked that happy just sitting next to Lucifer, the things Castiel's high mind would come up with as retaliation made Crowley's skin twitch. Pictures of blowjobs or half-naked fucks in the bathroom. Crowley'd use himself for revenge.

"Your brother just texted me, angel," Crowley said, faking innocent.

"Yeah?" Castiel asked, reaching for the phone. He frowned when he saw the picture, pulling the phone closer.

Scarlett, of course, had no personal boundaries. She peered over his shoulder, frowning at the picture. "Which one's your brother?"

"That one is Lucifer," Castiel said, pointing at a smiling Lucifer. Then his finger paused over Dean. Happy Dean. Once, he could make Dean happy like that. But those days were gone. And he was better without him. "That's my… that's Dean with him."

Apparently with cousins named Hastur and Ligur, one doesn't question a boy named for the devil. Instead, Scarlett just said, "Wow. Dean is hot."

Castiel frowned, completely missing the gleeful look in Crowley's eye. "Yes," he admitted, and Scarlett was frowning at him, but not as hard as Crowley suddenly was.

"Wait, angel," Crowley was going to fucking murder her for calling him that. "Are you fucking my cousin here?"

Castiel spared Crowley a glance, like he was contemplating some advanced equation. He turned his head back to Scarlett, "Not currently, no."

"No, no, no, wait, wait, wait," The smile was bursting from her face. She pointed a finger at the screen. "You used to fuck with Dean, and somehow after that, you went to AJ? Seriously? Little Anthony, here?" Her cackling was vicious, and Castiel felt something in his chest. He looked across the table at his friend, red with embarrassment and seething with anger, but Scarlett didn't stop. "You know, rumor has it around here that if Age were to sell his soul to the devil, it would be for an extra three inches below the waist."

Crowley took a deep breath and shot her a nasty look, "It would only be to reach double digits, darling. Castiel, let's go."

He stood, and Castiel stood as well, collecting his hat from the table, sparing a glance at Crowley's cousin before he followed him outside. It was drizzling but cold, and Castiel couldn't understand why he felt the need to comfort Crowley – to stick up for him – even in the privacy of the back of a taxi cab, or later, when they got back to their hotel.

It would be easy to pull a repeat performance of Florida. To slam Crowley against the door and make him angry: to make him want to hurt Castiel. Castiel wasn't planning on living much longer – there was no such thing as an old heroin addict, after all – a couple of years, tops, and he wanted to go down in a blaze of glory. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Drugs weren't a problem, but something held him back from the sex.

The last person he'd been with had been Crowley. It had cost him Dean. It had only been ten days – despite how happy Dean seemed without him – and something held Castiel back.

Crowley turned around, throwing his suit jacket on the chair and caught Castiel staring at him. He threw up his hands in frustration, "Don't you even fucking do the math and tell me with three inches I still wouldn't reach double digits because I swear to fucking God, Castiel…"

"Most men wouldn't reach double digits with three inches added. The average size of an erect penis is six inches, so plus three would equal nine," Castiel frowned. "But that's not what I was thinking." He turned and faced himself in the mirror, shrugging his own jacket off and laying it gently over the back of a chair. "I was thinking about if I look better with the jacket on or in just the vest. I think Neal Caffrey looks better in just the vest," he turned to look at Crowley. "What do you think?"

His friend let out a huff, his anger dissipating into the air. He laid down on his bed, the one closest to the wall, and looked the other boy over. "You look pretty as a Ken doll, angel."

"Hey," Castiel snapped in mock anger. "Call me Neal and that's a compliment. You know I'd fuck the shit out of Matt Bomer if I could…"

"That's because you're a complete narcissist and anything with black hair and blue eyes turns you on."

"… but I draw the line at Ken. You _know_ I hated him in _Magic Mike_ for giving Alex the ecstasy."

Crowley propped himself up on an elbow and grinned at Castiel, who was fingering the buttons on his vest, sliding it down his shoulders. "Which is ironic. You sell drugs for a living. You'd be a Ken before you'd be a Kid."

Castiel unbuttoned his shirt and added that to his pile, pulling on one of Crowley's shirts after. It was a little bit too big, but it displayed _Mumford & Sons_ like a brand across his chest, and knowing he was advertizing something Dean hated made the shirt fit a little easier. He switched his pants out for shorts before sitting next to Crowley on the bed. "But I love Alex Pettyfer."

"You are so gay," Crowley grinned. "I don't even know if I say _Beastly_ or _I Am Number Four_ to try and prove you wrong."

"And I'll counter with _In Time_ and that trumps everything," Castiel laid down on his stomach, still too high from the cocaine to sleep. His elbows propped him up and he suddenly flashed back to the hotel in Florida. This is exactly how they ended up that night. Instead of thinking about how they skipped the sex and jumped right to the easy friendship part, Castiel held out a hand, palm up. "Let's play a game on your phone."

"Alright," Crowley dug it out of his pocket, searching through the apps. "What do you want to play?"

They ended up settling on Jeopardy after they started a few other games but grew bored. Crowley went to the bathroom to change, and when he came out, Castiel had finished the board by himself and had fallen asleep.

* * *

My room was one of the smaller ones in the apartment I shared with Gabriel Novak, but it suited me fine. I opened my laptop and clicked on the Skype icon. The weird beeping of the connecting video call rang through the small bedroom, but it didn't take long for the man to answer, wearing a genuinely happy grin that was so rarely seen throughout high school. Crowley adjusted his laptop, causing the picture to bounce before it settled over his face again. He had scruff, but it wasn't in a drugged out, couldn't be bothered to shave way. It had the neat trim of someone who still prided himself on his appearance, even if he was wearing a blue t-shirt and an old black hoodie that made him look, arguably, years younger than he was. He certainly looked younger and more carefree than Castiel, despite his own struggles the past few years.

"Well hello, darling," Crowley put his elbow on the desk, his chin in his hands, lips still curled in a smile. "Must be the angel can't remember something?"

"You know him," I tried to laugh, but it came out a little awkwardly. Fear was still associated with the man on the other side of the computer even though he was thousands of miles away, a literal ocean and the eastern half of the United States away. If Crowley noticed my fear, he never commented on it. He did, however, put on a brave face and try to seem nicer. The man in the computer was almost nothing like his former self. "He says that you and him and some of your cousins traveled Europe for a week, but he only has flashes of memories. I thought you could help."

"Oh," Crowley said, smile faltering, hand going instinctively to his hair to smooth it down in the back. On Crowley's end, a door opened. A voice whispered something, and Crowley nodded, a large smile on his face. A few seconds later, a giant black dog poked his head into frame. The years were as good for Aziraphale as they were for his master. Crowley offered the large head a pat, before turning his attention back to the screen.

"Well, by that point, I started upping my own drug intake as well. I don't remember a whole lot of it myself besides Oxy dreams and cocaine wishes. Something about a white hoodie in Rome. Oh! But I think we made a video, hang on."

Crowley's eyes started skirting back and forth over the screen, having minimized the video to search his computer for the video. It was around that time that the door to my bedroom swung open, and Gabriel waltzed in like it belonged to him. Which, I suppose it did, but my friend lacked the basic understanding of private, personal space. I didn't really mind. "Hey buddy," he called out, but I ignored him. I was giving an interview. I liked to pretend to be professional. Although, Crowley didn't seem to mind. A few seconds later, he must have pulled the chat back up and looked overjoyed to see the youngest (and still smallest) Novak lurking.

"You're video chatting with AJ and you didn't even tell me?" Gabriel pouted, swatting with his hand to take over half of my seat in front of the computer. I glared at him, but he ignored it. "How are things over the pond, good sir?"

"Just wonderful," Crowley replied, eyes darting between the two of us on his screen before settling on Gabriel. "Been busy at the shop and the pay's seriously great, but it's a lot of work." He held his hands, fingers long since calloused from scissors and needles. "Who thought a person could make an honest living working as a tailor."

"Who thought you could make an honest living at all! But don't your suits cost, like, a bazillion dollars?" Gabriel asked with genuine curiosity. "Naturally you can make a living doing that."

"It's a modest living compared to the old mansion, but I like this flat just fine. It's cozy and warm and loved. And I hear your brother enjoys my childhood home."

Gabriel hummed, like he could appreciate living below his means because he certainly did. His money was spent on chocolate and candy. But secretly, Gabriel didn't like living in a house alone. That was why he offered this room to me with unreasonably low rent. It was also why he felt like he could walk in on interviews whenever the hell he wanted.

"Gabe, I have to…"

Gabriel shhed and leaned toward the computer again, "Hey, are you coming back for the wedding?"

"You're getting married?" Crowley asked, "I thought your lady wasn't the settling down type."

"No, not me. She says not until I either kick this third-wheel out or we admit to the affair we've been having. But you know me, I always like to keep my secrets, and I want to keep my secret live-in lover." Gabriel winked, Crowley laughed, and I sighed. It was something I was used to. "Plus I think she wants to move into a place like Balthy's, since together we could _afford_ it, but I like it here. Balthy's got his big house – your big house – Cassie's got his respectable two storeys with a swing on the porch and a hammock out back, and I just like living somewhere small, where nothing's too big, you know? I like tripping over people."

"You just need to pop out some babies," Crowley said. "Like eight of them. Give 'em all beautiful half Christian-half Hindu names like Vishniel."

Gabriel was overcome with laughter, and if I elbowed him in the ribs and he toppled off of his half the chair, then it was his own fault. Resituated and the only one in view, I frowned and pressed on, "The video, Crowley? Please?"

"Oh yeah," he said and went back to work. He never commented on how I was the only one who still referred to him by his last name. To be honest, I wasn't sure if he even noticed.

When Gabriel stopped laughing, he pressed his hands into his stomach, but remained laying on the floor. "But are you coming to the wedding? And I know that you know whose because you were _instrumental_ in their engagement, lest you forgot. Plus, it's always fun with you awkwarding the situation up. Remember the _last_ wedding? I thought Cassie was going to piss himself."

"Nah, I know who you mean," Crowley said, ignoring the last bit about the last time Crowley had come to visit, before clicking something and making an aha noise. "We already RSVPed."

"We?" Gabriel popped his head up. "You're bringing your poppet?"

Crowley made a face, "Not poppet, you ignoramus. My paramour, my beloved, my…" he searched for words, then he shot a look to his left, the door opening once again. The voice was soft, but it was a warning. Crowley winked at the figure off screen before saying, "My beau."

Gabriel was cackling again, then sang, _"The love of my life, my shawty, my wife…"_

"Yeah," Crowley just said, copying the link and pasting it into chat. "And speaking of which, the beau says dinner is done, and I don't want to be late. You got that link then? Alright. Ciao, darlings." And Crowley signed off.

The link was to a YouTube site that only had a handful of views, but it was doubtful that anyone outside the members in the party had any real interest in watching the video. Gabriel was standing up again, leaning toward the screen with an expectant look on his face.

"Don't you have somewhere to be? Like a hot girlfriend to fuck or something?" I asked.

"Don't you have my hot girlfriend to fuck or something?" He asked, with a smirk. I sighed and hit play.

There wasn't any sound. Well, there _was_ sound, but the video was a montage of mostly pictures set to a song. Hilariously, _So Good_ by B.o.B., considering Crowley spent his free time that year trying to convince Castiel to stay with him.

It opened with a video of Castiel running up to an organ in an old church, hitting some notes, before turning and grinning at the party. Soon after they were chased out of the church and the montage cut to pictures. They were smoking outside a German bar, holding glasses of beer. Pictures of Castiel and Crowley in front of the Eiffel Tower, outside of museums, grinning and laughing. It remained pictures again until the chorus hit, and then it turned into another video.

Castiel was walking between Crowley and Scarlett. The girl had her arm laced through his, and Castiel was grinning, leaning down, whispering to her. Crowley was undoubtedly drunk (or stoned, but probably both), and was chatting with Hastur.

Castiel shot a look at Crowley, then grinned at Scarlett, pushing her up against a brick bar in a line of brick bars, pressing his lips against hers roughly. The kiss was pornographic, tongues and teeth, and they didn't stop kissing so much as Crowley grabbed Castiel's shoulder and pulled him off of her. Scarlett laughed, and Castiel just grinned.

More photos, this time all in Italy. Teens nursing hangovers at coffee shops before starting in on the alcohol and drugs again. It was more of the same. Happy teens nearly backpacking through Europe. All of the Italy pictures featured Castiel in a white hoodie, one of which he was perched on a stone near the coliseum with his hood up and his head down. Gabriel snorted. There were more still pictures of Castiel and Scarlett. Him pushing her against a wall, or her sitting on his lap in a short skirt, hands at his face, leaning over like she was about to kiss him. It was bizarre behavior from a boy who once had a girl offer him sex for drugs and he was disgusted by the thought of it.

When the chorus started up again, a video started as well. Hastur and Ligur asleep on the floor in an expensive hotel. Then it panned to a bed, with Scarlett on her back and Castiel snuggled into her shoulder, a leg thrown over her knees, an arm around her waist. They were dressed and over the covers, probably sleeping off another drunken binge.

Slowly, Castiel was waking up. He pushed his face into her shoulder, arm pulling back to rest a hand on her stomach. His hand trailed upward, like he knew something wasn't right. His hand rested on her breast for a complete second before he was jumping out of bed, flailing like someone burned him. The camera started shaking with the cameraman's laughter. Castiel ran toward the camera, and the other bed, before he collapsed next to it.

The camera turned around, showing Castiel hugging Crowley's arm. Crowley was still laughing, and Castiel distinctly mouthed, "I'm not high enough to wake up with a girl," before the pictures started once more.

By the time it was over, there was no real pattern. The answer seemed to be that nothing happened in Europe. Well, everything did, but nothing that would be story worthy. No defining moments Castiel or Crowley remembered that propelled them closer to the end. Except, of course, that they were in Europe together, having fun.

Gabriel had his cell phone out the second the video was over. I tried to grab it, but Gabriel swatted away a hand that tried to pry it away. He put it on speaker when Castiel answered with, "Yes, Gabriel?"

"Hey, Cassie. It's your brother Gabe and my fabulous roommate slash your epic story's author. So Crowley just showed us the video of your time together in Europe, and I wanted to know that I'm so proud of you for making it to second base with a sleeping chick!"

Castiel sighed and hung up the phone.

* * *

The boys left behind in Kansas didn't have much of a story for February break either. After that first night, Dean insisted they continue to go out and get drunk, despite the fact that he spent most of Sunday night hunched over a toilet. Lucifer spent Monday morning on the Winchesters' couch, watching _White Collar_ with a bucket in front of him, but he never used it.

At one point, Dean ventured down from his bedroom to find some food. He sat on the couch and watched the show with Lucifer and Sam for a solid three minutes, before he noticed that Sam was talking about how much Castiel really did look like Neal Caffrey in his new tailored suit. Dean got one look at the dude's eyes and threw away his food and walked back upstairs.

Most nights, they hit the club, but twice, they decided to stay home. Those nights Gabriel came over and drank beers with Dean while Lucifer and Sam talked with John in the kitchen.

John was surprisingly okay with the alcohol consumption, though mostly because he was still figuring out the great plan to get Dean and Castiel back together, despite the fact that it seemed that it was never going to happen. Pictures of Castiel and Crowley painted a happy life in Europe, and although nothing sexual jumped out at the junior detectives, it wouldn't be more than a few weeks before they combined sex with the drugs and went not-so-gentle into that hazy night.

And even that wasn't the worst of it.

Gabriel was attached to Dean at the hip, apparently dying to have his brother's sloppy seconds. It angered Sam, but it disgusted Lucifer. Especially when, despite anger and empty threats, Gabriel wouldn't reveal his endgame. He claimed he didn't want to get with Dean, but he would call him Manly and run a hand through Dean's hair. By Thursday, both were fuming. Sam was so pissed he actually went to go see Dean in the shop to ask him what exactly he thought was going on here.

The whole way over, Sam tried to calm himself down. Castiel cheated on Dean and Dean had the right to do whatever the fuck he wanted. But the more time went on, the more Sam saw of Castiel drowning himself in alcohol and cocaine thousands of miles away, and saw Dean doing pretty much the same right here, and he figured that his dad was right. They needed to step in. Because Dean needed Castiel as much as Castiel needed Dean. If they didn't have each other, they were going to slowly kill themselves.

Every remnant of Castiel had been stripped of Dean's life. After they broke up, Dean asked Sam to help him get rid of everything Castiel owned. Shirts were emptied from dressers, added with pants and books in a duffle bag. Dean told Sam to give it to Lucifer, but he couldn't. He didn't know why, but he shoved the duffle bag under his bed.

The only memory of Castiel remained with Dean in the shop. Despite how pissed Dean was, and how much he hated knowing his Baby was assembled with Crowley's money, he had been waiting too long to have her. So he sat in his shop many mornings before he was supposed to get into work, and fit pieces together, imagining the whole picture. He had to think big picture. Otherwise each little piece became an exchanging of hands or lips, a high fuck in Florida, and Dean couldn't take it.

And Sam knew that. He knew coming into the shop would be a mistake because Dean was always emotionally charged there. He hadn't expected to come in screaming; he just wanted to calmly ask what the fuck was up with Gabriel.

But that was impossible, because he heard the song from the lobby.

" _I can love, but I need his heart._  
I am strong even on my own, but from him I never want to part.  
He's been blessed since the very start,  
My angel Gabriel."

Sam burst into the back part of the shop, yelling, "What the hell, Dean?" before he noticed his brother sitting with his legs crossed on the floor, his back to Sam. He had a wrench in one hand, his head hung in the other.

"Dean?" Sam approached, turning the music down on his way. Dean's shoulders shrugged out a sigh, but otherwise he remained still as his brother came to sit next to him.

"Sometimes I miss him so fucking much, Sammy," Dean confessed, but wouldn't say more after that. Sam helped him with the Impala for a few hours, and Dean invited Gabriel over that night to get wasted.

Sam was unhappy about it. Sure, he didn't always hang out with Dean as much since Dean started dating Castiel, and now that Sam was dating Lucifer, they still didn't seem to have a ton of time. But getting drunk to mourn a loss should be a brotherly thing. Sam was getting jealous playing second fiddle to Gabriel.

And that's when he noticed it.

Gabriel would run fingers through Dean's hair and let him lean against him, but Dean was plastered, and Gabriel smelled like a Novak, even if he was the wrong one. Sam caught his brother lean in, let his eyes fall shut, and Gabriel dodged like a master by pretending to be focused at a lint ball in Dean's hair. By the time he got it off, Dean snapped himself out of it and went back to watching TV.

That happened three times. Gabriel managed to avoid the attempted kiss without making Dean feel like he had been turned down at all.

Then, at ten o'clock, Gabriel went upstairs. He was gone longer than an average bathroom break and whined for Lucifer to walk him home once he returned.

The next morning, Sam woke up to a crash in the bathroom. He pushed the door open without knocking, hoping it was nothing serious. Dean was freshly showered with just jeans on, sitting on the toilet with his shirt in front of his face. His shoulders shook in angry sobs. When Sam finally wiggled the material from Dean's hands, he noticed that it was Castiel's shirt.

The shirt he wore to the Senior Sign In. A shirt that definitely had not been left in Dean's closet by accident because Sam had exactly one memory of Castiel in this shirt and it was at that party. It would have been left in his closet at Michael's house.

Despite the fact it took Dean several minutes to calm down, Sam wasn't giving him whole lot of thought, other than to rub his back. Instead, he thought about how they may have a secret ally. And maybe if he confronted Gabriel from this angle, the three could work together.

After all, the three of them working together had to be better than them all working alone.

* * *

Sam had been going to church with the Novaks for a while. He still went most Sundays, but he hadn't been able to make one of Michael's prayer circles for a while. Between training and bartending, Sam's free time after school had been cut to nothing. Still, the group welcomed him back with open arms, so Sam had to guess that Michael didn't know he was technically the heir to Lucifer's gang or the fact that they were dating.

Sam would have never thought Michael could fit so many kids into the Novaks' living room.

They sang some songs, and Michael gave a moving sermon about Moses and the commandments. He tied it in to the New Testament, about a man asking Jesus what the most important commandment was. He had the teenagers laughing and nodding, truly engaged with scripture. And he walked among them the way Sam imagined Jesus did, reaching out to touch a shoulder or cup a cheek. This was his flock – these were his children – and despite the fact he could be archaic in his interpretation and vicious in his actions spurred on by those ideals, Michael was truly doing good here.

He didn't mention his twin brother and the evil he was supposedly spreading; instead, Michael just preached about the light.

When the sermon was over and the other kids started to leave, Sam remained on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, knees bent so he could rest his arms on them. He closed his eyes and tried to commit the lesson to memory, because despite Lucifer's apparent dislike of his brother, he enjoyed when someone spoke fondly of him. So long as Michael and "fondly" didn't mean demonizing Lucifer.

There was a smacking sound, like a heavy book hitting a table, and Sam felt his feet shake. He opened his eyes. Half the people had already left the room, and Gabriel had his back to him, walking down the hall and toward his room. Balthazar was gone too. The only Novak in the room was Michael, laughing with a girl named Hester who had her hand on his forearm.

Sam leaned forward and grabbed the book. It was heavy, but he pulled it onto his lap and opened the black, leather cover.

It wasn't a book; it was a photo album.

The pictures started with just Jimmy Novak and Anna Milton – teenage sweethearts – in a church. The photos progressed over a few years: Anna flashing an engagement ring, their wedding, the starting of a nursery. The first picture of any of the kids was of Zachariah, almost a year old. After that, there was one of a two-year-old Zachariah in Jimmy's arms, looking down over a crib with infant versions of Uriel and Raphael sleeping inside. There were handfuls of pictures of the three children before a picture of Anna standing sideways, pregnant with Lucifer and Michael. Her stomach was huge, and she looked ready to burst.

For the next four years, there was a steady stream of pictures of the boys, and an ever-pregnant Anna Novak.

Castiel's first birthday party – the boy had long, messy hair, and wide blue eyes as he put a handful of ice cream in his mouth – Lucifer and Michael fighting over presents behind him, Balthazar just a month old. Michael holding Gabriel, looking down at his sleeping brother with wonder as the baby sucked his thumb. Uriel and Raphael racing on bikes. Zachariah holding up a fish he caught with Balthazar reaching out to touch it.

Then there was a picture of Anna in the hospital. She was wearing all white, an identification tag decorating her wrist. The children were around her, an eight-year-old Castiel sat on her lap, but she was looking out the window. In many of the pictures after that, Anna was missing.

Jimmy looked older with his sons spread out before him, reading them passages from the Bible. The children morphed from the happy-go-lucky kids they used to be into strict, uptight preteens. Lucifer with a black eye when he was thirteen. Castiel closed lipped and unsmiling at church. Michael and a snare drum, marching to his father's beat.

Then, around the time Michael and Lucifer were 16, the pictures changed again. Lucifer was staring out windows, and one picture captured Lucifer with a surprised face with a bloody hand and a mirror punched out behind him.

There weren't any pictures of Lucifer in a hospital, but he was mysteriously absent for a set of birthdays.

Then Jimmy was gone.

Then, a year later, Anna was too.

A picture from Thanksgiving this year without Lucifer and Castiel. Christmas without Balthazar. A strange picture of Sam, Dean, and Castiel that Sam didn't even remember posing for.

Sam flipped back to younger days, settling on a picture of Michael and Lucifer lying in the grass. They were about the same age that Sam was now. Lucifer's eyebrows were low and wrinkled together as if in confusion; he was on his back, pointing up at the sky. Michael was on his stomach, looking over at his brother, his mouth open as if in the middle of saying something.

"Cloud watching," the couch shifted with Michael's added weight. When Sam looked up, nobody was left in the living room but the two of them. Michael leaned over, trying to get another look at the picture that had captured Sam's attention. "We used to do it all the time when we were younger. Usually after a game of The Fall, but…"

"The Fall?"

"Yeah, we used to play Lucifer's Fall. We'd fight with fake swords, and I'd kick him off the playground, dubbed Heaven, and he'd be lost to wander the grass for the rest of eternity or until he got bored and started watching the clouds," Michael smiled. "And what am I to do if he isn't attacking me? I'd climb down and we'd watch them together."

Sam turned to look at him with a frown, "You made a regular game out of beating your twin with a wooden stick and throwing him off the playground?"

Michael winced, "Well, not literally throw him off, you know. Just…"

"Doesn't that seem like a self-fulfilling prophecy to you? You literally spent your childhood playing games where you beat your brother down – he failed every single time – don't you think that sets him up to fail?" Sam ran his thumb over the blond boy in the picture. "And why him? Why not you? Because you were named for the angel who cut him down? That just seems like bullcrap to me."

Michael watched Sam's fingers dance over the picture, felt the heat radiating from the younger boy next to him, and he sighed.

"When the fighting was done, after I cast him out, he would pretend to attack. Once and a while he would convince Gabriel or Balthazar to play as demons, and on very rare occasions, they took heaven back and I became the devil. More often than not, Lucifer would get bored. Not once did he deny me, when I went to sit next to him and watch the clouds. He was never bitter about losing our battle because he knew it was just a game."

Sam turned to look at Michael, a confused frown on his face that reminded him so much of his brother. Lucifer was a child at times, demanding to know _why_ and _how come_ to things Michael just accepted. They shouldn't have sex before they were married. Michael agreed with their father. Lucifer asked why. He would obey his father – he loved Jimmy Novak more than words could express – but he would question Michael. And Michael never had the answers.

If Michael couldn't answer, then it was okay to defy their father. And Michael rarely had the answers.

"Why did you attack Dean for breaking up with Cas?"

Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair, saying, "I saw Castiel so upset, and I lost it. I didn't know what Castiel had done, and I hope your brother can forgive me."

"But I mean, you defend one brother but you kick out another for the same supposed sin? It doesn't make sense. Why Cas and not Lucifer?" Sam looked betrayed, like Michael had hurt him in some profound, unforgivable way, and Michael looked down, rubbing his hands over his knees.

"I'm not sure," he whispered. "Raphael says it is because we always knew with Castiel, and with Lucifer it was a surprise, but Lucifer is full of surprises. He has always done what I told him not to. To be fair, I think it was less about him, and more about you."

"Me?"

"You're a child, Sam, and my brother is legally an adult. More than him, I worried for you. He took you someplace, he got you drunk, he was trying to kiss you, and I know how he is. Who do you think he bragged to first after his conquests? The thought of him doing that to you, someone we took to church with us, someone who was supposed to trust us… I… I overreacted," Michael frowned, but his eyes raised, his hand reached across, touching Sam's knee. "I didn't mean to break his arm, but if I let it continue, you don't know the things he would do to you. It doesn't matter what he promised, in the end, he would leave you like he left the girls. A conquest. I couldn't let that happen."

"You don't think he loved me?" Sam asked.

"I think that he cannot love anyone else until he learns to love himself," Michael opened his hands and looked into them. "And if there is one person Lucifer hates more than me, it's himself."

Sam sighed because he couldn't really argue with that. He just hoped he could make up for it – prove to Lucifer that he deserved to be loved – so that maybe, in time, Lucifer could learn to love himself.

"So what's this all about now, then?" Sam whined. "If it's not about the whole 'if a man also lie with mankind, as he leith with a woman' thing, why don't you just apologize to him? Why not let him come home?"

"Raphael says that we need to get rid of the drugs he put into the streets, we have to stop the prostitution, and the sin he spreads with the lies he spins," Michael said.

"But if you let him come home, the empire would collapse. He only did that stuff to spite you, and if you came to your senses and forgave him for starting the gang, the gang would stop. He needs his brother, Michael." Sam raised his eyebrows. "And I think you need him too."

Michael drew his hands together and laced his fingers on his left hand between the fingers of his right. He put the fingers against his forehead like he was praying, but at the last second he extended his thumbs and pushed them into his eyes. Not hard – not enough to blind himself or anything like that – just enough for a headache to start behind his skull.

He made a childish noise, like he was given the option of naptime or bed without supper, and he didn't particularly want to do either.

* * *

Dean did not want to talk about Castiel. It wasn't so much an unspoken agreement as it was a _speak about it and I'll cut you_ agreement, but John never got the memo. And apparently, Sam and Satan had a big mouth because one moment, Dean was wondering whether or not he should call Gabriel and ask him if he wanted to get drunk, and the next, John was sitting next to him on the couch, giving a halfway decent impression of one of Sam's bitchfaces: the _I need to talk to you about something you don't want to talk about_ bitchface.

Dean sighed, and shifted his feet, so the other ankle was resting on top of his knee, arms still flat across his chest, and looked at his dad.

John Winchester was many things. He was a genius mechanic; he had an ability to fix things that Dean couldn't even dream of. He was a devoted husband; without Mary, John seemed to fall apart in a fit of alcohol and misplaced rage. He was a father; literally, he had two biological sons.

But John Winchester wasn't a father in many aspects of his boys' lives. Sometimes, Dean flashed back to the time when Bobby outed Dean, called Castiel his boyfriend, and caused Dean to kiss him. Bobby was a father. John was an ex-alcoholic with shared DNA, who didn't understand what it meant to be a teenager anymore. Especially not a teenager with homosexual tendencies who was still completely and totally in love with the person who cheated on him and broke his heart.

"This is my fault," he said, and Dean was busy thinking where on Lucifer's pretty face he was going to sock him. He couldn't decide between his nose and his perfect jaw line, but John was full of guilt so Dean had time to decide.

"What?" Dean asked, knowing if he didn't, his dad would offer the information anyway.

"Cas," John said, like he knew that Dean knew and was just being a dick. "He made that Deal for me – well, for you – but because of me. And if you want to be pissed at me, Dean, I can take it like a man. But Cas seriously needs you right now, and if he doesn't have you, he is going to die."

"What the fuck do I care about Cas?" Dean asked, bringing a beer to his lips. He'd have to see Castiel tomorrow, it was Monday and they were still lab partners, but Dean could get drunk and pretend it would be Sunday again. "Douchebag cheated on me. Douchebag went off to another country with the dude he cheated on me with for a week, after we'd only been broken up for a week. Face it, dad. Douchebag doesn't want me."

"That is so not true, Dean," John was quiet, his elbows on his knees, his head hung low. It was a sign of guilt, and Dean felt dirty just watching it. Like maybe, somewhere deep down, he knew. He knew John was right – everything Castiel ever did to hurt Dean had been out of misguided love – and Dean didn't want to even think about forgiveness.

Because he loved Castiel, and he knew it. Deep down, he would forgive him of every sin, and take him back, every time.

And that scared him. It scared him that anyone could be so important to him that Dean would always wipe the slate clean. Isn't that what happened with beaten wives?

"Look, Dean, Castiel would have never gone to Crowley if I hadn't messed up. This is on me, okay? And Sam told me his flight gets back to Kansas in half an hour. Maybe you should talk to him and forgive him. From what your brother says, he isn't doing so well. He's back on the drugs, and take it from someone who knows, son. It's just a slower way to kill yourself. That's the endgame. That's always the endgame."

Dean switched feet, so his other foot was resting on the stand and his other knee was bent, but John had apparently said all he needed to say. He stood, giving Dean's shoulder a good clasp, and walked to the kitchen. Dean sat and watched his cartoons for a moment, before he really remembered what he was watching.

When he was younger, he liked watching busty Asians speaking in a language he didn't understand that involved a lot of moaning that didn't really need a translation. He frowned at the anime he was watching now, that involved almost no girls, and was apparently about World War II (somehow), with the countries being represented by mostly dudes.

Convinced he must have seen everything Netflix had to offer, Dean shut off the show with incredibly weird feelings involving America and Britain (despite the fact he hated everything about Britain because that's apparently where his ex-boyfriend was running around with his new boyfriend all week), but even more emotions for Italy. Fucking Italy. After Dean shut the show off, he climbed the stairs, aiming at locking himself in his room until someone else wanted a heart to heart.

On his own turf, Dean wouldn't feel bad yelling at the asshole and telling him to go fuck himself.

Instead, he heard a familiar tune being played on Lucifer's guitar and wondered two things: first, why was the song familiar, and second, why was Sam's door open just ajar – just enough for their voices and the instrument to carry from the room and into the hall. Dean paused at his own door for a moment, trying to place the song. When he recognized it as one of Sam's bands, he almost entered his room and shut the door. But Lucifer started singing, and the wording – just slightly off – got Dean's attention.

" _When I was younger I saw my brother cry and curse at the wind. He broke his own heart, and I watched as he tried to reassemble it."_ Dean knew that something was turned around, but he couldn't figure out what. Instead, he leaned against the door jamb and put his forehead against his arm. He imagined Castiel – just like John said – yelling into the wind in some city in Europe, probably he was so high he didn't know what one. He was sick with himself, cursing and in pain, because he missed Dean, missed being sober and clean and loved. So he had to fill up on what he could get: drugs and free sex with a slime-ball who probably promised him the world. And Crowley could offer it, too.

Then Sam started singing the next verse, and Dean didn't know Sam could sing like that. Lucifer was flawless – technical perfection in every sense of the world – but Sam had raw emotion, his voice catching in his throat like he really meant it when he said, _"And my brother swore he'd never let himself forget. And that was the day that I promised, I'd never sing of love if it does not exist."_

And John was right, Castiel was killing himself. Castiel was dying for Dean, and Dean couldn't get over the one mistake – one flaw that only happened because of a perfect storm of events – because look at all Castiel had done for him. He saved him from starving by selling drugs. He bought Dean the parts to the Impala, and when Castiel was sober, the look on his face of complete love and trust… Dean was really a fool to give that up for a tweaked mistake. Dean didn't need to forget, but he needed to forgive. And maybe in time, he would forget. His heart clenched in his chest, and Lucifer kept strumming, like they had no idea Dean was in the hall, nearly in tears over their song.

And what was he fucking teaching Sammy about forgiveness? How long would it be before Dean messed up, and Sam wouldn't forgive him?

Together they sang, _"Darling, you are the only exception. You are the only exception."_

Then the guitar stopped. Lucifer laughed and Sam growled, but the laughter was in good nature and the growl was one of frustration, not vengeance. Lucifer adjusted the guitar, Dean could hear the vibrations echo into the hall, and he said, "Think harmony, Sam, like the Beatles."

"I can't do it," Sam admitted. "Cas was teaching me for weeks before you showed up, and I cannot sing harmonies."

Lucifer chucked, but it was a light thing that Dean hadn't ever heard before, filled with love and hope and promise. "Well," Lucifer said, "I would sing harmony for you, but then you wouldn't learn. I will always play second fiddle for you, you know that?" Sam just sighed. "Think higher, just a few steps higher, okay? Take it from the chorus."

When Lucifer started strumming again, Dean went into his bedroom and shut the door. He was confused, and for some reason angry and jealous, but mostly, he just felt empty, like there was a Castiel-shaped hole missing from his heart. And maybe his brother and Lucifer were right. Maybe Castiel was an exception to the no-cheating rule.

Maybe he deserved another chance.

* * *

Later that night, Lucifer abandoned the guitar on the floor in favor of the homework he'd abandoned all week. Sam laughed at him – of course, the smart kid did all his work the first weekend – but Lucifer was lying on his stomach on Sam's bed, answering questions from his AP Environmental textbook about solar power verses fossil fuels without a complaint. Sam seemed proud of him, so he ran downstairs real quick to find a reward.

When he came back and shut the door, Lucifer offered him a grateful smile and took the can of Orange Crush that Sam was pushing into his hand. Their fingers touched, and Sam's breath caught in his throat. He was completely unaware that stupid little things like that could send such a spark through him, but they did, and it made him feel childish. If Lucifer felt it, he didn't react. Instead, he sat up, opened the can, and brought it to his lips at an angle so he could still read the words of his textbook.

Sam watched. The music playing from his computer offering a quiet distraction from the pencil scratching answers on paper, and the way Lucifer held the object in his hand, the bend of his wrist, the graceful, perfect letters that were shaped out under his guidance.

Sam took a breath and turned back to the computer.

But not really, because Sam watched for the next half hour, until finally the other boy was done with his homework. He signaled his victory by closing the notebook with his answers inside the textbook – creasing the binding in a way that made Sam wince – and let the book fall to the floor. He sighed, finished off the soda, and laid on his back. His arms came to rest between his head and the pillows, one knee bent, the other ankle catching that knee in a relaxed pose.

Pale eyes closed, and Sam caught himself staring at the spot where neck met jaw, right over the carotid artery that, if Sam were closer, would be a perfect spot to place a kiss.

"I like this song," Lucifer said suddenly, opening one eye and angling his head toward Sam. The younger boy flushed and looked back to his computer.

Today was Lucifer and Sam's three week anniversary, not that Sam was counting, but in those three weeks, Sam hadn't really even gotten to first base. When Lucifer said he wasn't going to ask Sam to do anything that he didn't want to do – that he would wait forever for Sam – he truly, honestly didn't take that as a challenge. They kissed each other good night, and on rare occasions during the day, but they were pecks. Never tongue.

And even when Sam didn't even want to make out with Ruby, he made out with Ruby on that first date. He was a virgin, not a monk. And he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand without at least a proper kiss.

And early on in their relationship – around the time of Sam's second fight – he was aware that Lucifer had seen him in just jeans. He knew the contours of Sam's skin, and Sam didn't have a clue what Lucifer was like under his shirt. His clothes were usually baggy and ill-fitting, and Sam just wanted to slide his hands up his stomach, under his shirt, and was second base still boob fondling if it was with two dudes? Sam didn't know anything about social expectations for same-sex couples.

" _What's your favorite way to spoon?"_ Lucifer suddenly sang, smiling lightly at his boyfriend.

Sam answered with the girl's part, without thought, but an octave lower than she sang it, _"Anyway's the perfect way with you."_

" _Will you let me in your room?"_

" _Kiss me quick, my dad will be home soon…"_

After another few seconds, Lucifer started singing the male part of the chorus, _"What would you say, what would you do?"_

Sam came in, singing with him, his voice an octave lower than the girl's part when they both sang, _"If I asked you…"_

Lucifer sat up, song abandoned once again to background music. His legs dangled over the bed, open slightly, and his hands gestured out to Sam, excided, "Sammy, you just harmonized with me!"

"What?" Sam stood, his knees were shaking. "I was singing the girl's part…"

"Yeah, and she sang the harmony. That's awesome," Lucifer's eyes dropped to Sam's chest, working out the next phase in his teaching aloud. "So that means if it's a duet with two distinct voices and you can _hear_ each of them and how they're different, then you can –"

Sam's right arm was still sore, so he reached with his left hand to the side of Lucifer's face, pulling him in and pressing their lips gently together. Once in place, Sam felt his boyfriend's fingers on the back of his neck, and Sam's hand dropped to Lucifer's knee, using his hand and his hip to push them open, so Sam could side between them. Lucifer allowed it, but two heartbeats later he was pulling back, eyebrows shooting up with concern, knees closing in on Sam's hips in an attempt to get him out of the spot.

"Sam," he whispered. "No, we can't…"

But Sam wrapped his arm around his shoulder to hold him there, and Sam kissed him again. The older boy mumbled against the kiss, and Sam let that be Lucifer's downfall. He followed him on a word and slid his tongue past his lips to touch his boyfriend's.

An override switch must have been thrown in Lucifer's brain, because his tongue was suddenly at Sam's, and the protests stopped. There was a moment of fumbling before Lucifer pushed back, pushing his thumb at Sam's jaw, guiding him where he wanted him. His other hand was rubbing circles on Sam's side.

Sam felt like he was on fire, he needed to breathe more than the quick gasps would allow, but this was everything. He felt like his heart took up his whole torso, and like there was a light inside him that would explode from pure energy. It was love. And it was so intense and consuming it almost scared Sam.

Lucifer pulled back then, just enough so their mouths weren't touching, but their foreheads were resting against each other. His eyes were closed, and his shoulders rose and fell with heavy, desperate breaths.

"Okay," he mumbled, sharing air with Sam. "Um… okay."

"Okay?" Sam asked, drawing back. He thought it had been amazing not _okay_.

"Yes," Lucifer said, eyes opening a sliver, showing a lot of black stealing what used to be blue. "I just need to… um… Why did you do that?"

"I think that's what people do when they're dating," he breathed, pushing in to kiss Lucifer again.

Sam ignored the other boy's soft whine but paid attention to any sign of discomfort. His boyfriend kissed him back and so Sam pushed farther, pushing on Lucifer's shoulders to lay him back, before climbing up on the bed after him. For one moment, Sam was nearly on top of him before he settled against the wall, on his side, pushing himself up on his good elbow to hover over Lucifer. The older boy was tense, but slowly, after a bit, he started to ease up, angling his body toward his boyfriend, a hand guiding his face again.

Until Sam's sore arm moved to press on Lucifer's stomach, pushing up the t-shirt. Then, Sam might have thought Lucifer had been scalded. His body flinched wildly, and Sam pulled back, flinching at the sudden movement in his shoulder. Lucifer looked terrified, his hands at the hem of his shirt, forcibly holding his t-shirt down. Sam raised his eyebrows and Lucifer said, "No."

"I'm sorry... I just..."

"No, Sam."

"You've seen me without mine. I just wanted to see you too."

"Tough," Lucifer sat up, and Sam plopped the rest of the way down on his stomach, a whine escaping his lips that was more annoyed than upset. His head rested over his good hand, and he felt the bed shift as Lucifer rose from the bed, dug his hands in his hair, and started pacing.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, sitting up, sensing a meltdown. "I didn't mean anything by it; I didn't think you had something to…"

"I'm not hiding anything," Lucifer suddenly snapped, pride causing his hands to come out of his hair and curl in front of his chest. "What would I be hiding?"

"I dunno," Sam pushed himself to the edge of the bed, but he remained sitting, leaning forward with his elbow on his knee. "A third nipple? A jelly roll?" Then he said what was more likely, "More scars."

Lucifer sighed, meltdown avoided and he stepped toward Sam, reaching out a hand to cup his boyfriend's cheek. "No, I'm not hiding anything. It's just, kissing leads to making out, which leads to laying down and making out, which leads to the removal of clothes and desperate friction, and it ends with two kids filled with lust and unable to control themselves. And I can't…"

"I know," Sam said, looking down.

Lucifer sighed, and after a moment, Sam saw his boyfriend's hands return to the hem of his shirt. In one, quick moment, it was up and over his head. He held it in one hand, opening his arms as if proving he had nothing to hide. "There, you win. Happy?"

The short answer was yes. Lucifer was just far enough away where Sam couldn't touch, but the boy was a fighter. He had the build of someone who actually participated in gym class, who ran frequently, but the muscles were soft. Despite his age, Sam's muscles were giving Lucifer's a run for his money, probably thanks to the alcohol and whatever he took to self medicate and the cigarettes.

Lucifer didn't say anything. He just stood there, awkwardly, and let Sam take it in.

"Can I touch you?" Sam asked.

Lucifer sighed again. "Three rules: you have to stay above my waist, you have to keep your shirt on, and if I stay stop, I really mean it, okay? You know, technically, if I say no once and you keep going, that's coercion at least. Where I come from, no means no."

Sam nodded, feet hitting the floor. His fingers of both hands reached out slowly to touch his boyfriend's stomach. At first, the movement caused his injured shoulder to throb, and Lucifer tried to get him to put it back in the sling. But the pads of his fingers tracing the muscles in his stomach, the way Lucifer's freezing flesh felt as Sam slid the unmarked skin of his wrists across his hips, leaning over to press kisses to his collarbone, his ribs, anywhere Lucifer would let him worship. The careful attention Sam paid to the other boy made his own pain decrease – whether it was because he wasn't thinking about it, or all of his blood was rushing somewhere else, Sam wasn't sure – and Sam didn't even flinch when his hands traced from Lucifer's back to his stomach, palms flat as he traced his hands up to his boyfriend's shoulders.

Sam wanted to break the rules and watch his fingers spread over every inch of Lucifer's skin. He did notice the way Lucifer watched him as his fingers explored his body, like maybe Lucifer was seeing himself for the first time. His triceps were ticklish. Sam could feel every vertebrae in Lucifer's spine if he trailed his fingers over it. And before he was warned that he was pushing into No Man's Land, Sam found that touching Lucifer's hip bone made him flinch in a way that was less unpleasant and more of an arch of the back.

Sam pressed his lips against Lucifer's one last time, wrapping his arm left arm around his shoulder, the right tracing circles on his back, completely loving the way his chest fit against the other boy's and the way Lucifer just held him back. Just as soon as it started, it was over, and Sam was handing Lucifer his t-shirt back.

"Do you want to play guitar some more or play a game?"

Lucifer tugged the shirt back on, looking a little disappointed at the loss of the worship, but somewhat relieved they survived it nonetheless. He laid down on Sam's bed, angling the computer toward him a little better. Sam sat in the chair as he fumbled to get the sling back over his elbow and loaded the game.

"But I swear, Sam, if you have us adopt one more kid, we're putting in the cheat code. I can't support them all on a policeman's salary while you tend your garden all day," Sam seemed to blush at Lucifer's criticism of their Sims game, but Lucifer just grinned. "You'd think if you were progressive enough to have a homosexual couple, you'd at least be forward enough to let both of them have a career of their own. This isn't the fifties. You don't need to slave over the stove all day."

Sam stuck his tongue out at his boyfriend, "I do if I want my cooking skill to go up, so I don't burn the house down."

And Sam truly loved the way Lucifer grinned, reaching out a hand just long enough to touch Sam's arm, before the game loaded and he fell silent, completely content to watch Sam take control their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:
> 
> In the bell tower, Sam and Lucifer sing “Every Thug Needs a Lady” by Alkaline Trio.
> 
> Lucifer is singing “Out Tonight” from RENT to get Sam to go out with him after his reflection moves.
> 
> The song Dean is listening to while he fixes up the Impala is “My Angel Gabriel” by Lamb.
> 
> Sam and Lucifer change the words (slightly) to “The Only Exception” by Paramore. (Paramore was requested a while back, and this is my favorite paramore song. It fits too perfectly, if you ask me.)
> 
> And Sam and Lucifer are singing “knockout” by Perma at the end of the chapter. It’s sung by the real life couple of Max Bemis (of Say Anything) and Sherri Dupree-Bemis (of Eisley) who are expecting their first baby soon. It’s an awesome song, and you should all go check it out.


	11. In the Light

 

**Chapter 11: In the Light**

Dean walked to school Monday morning with his algebra textbook and _In the Lake of the Woods_ by Tim O'Brien, the book he was currently reading for English class, pressed against his chest like a shield. Sam was talking a mile a minute for the first half of the twenty minute walk to school. With one block to go, Sam grew quiet and pensive, but Dean knew better than to ask.

It didn't matter because Sam volunteered his thoughts, "Are you going to talk to Cas today?"

"Why would I?" Dean asked, ignoring the way the edge of the textbook dug into his collarbone. "Ask him if he had fun fucking that douchebag across Europe? Yeah, right. No, thanks."

"Lucifer doesn't think they're sleeping together," Sam said quietly, ears turning pink. "Well not yet, but Dean, you have to make your move or he will. Castiel's going downhill fast, and he needs you to catch him."

Dean sighed and the school came into sight. He very purposefully stared at the building, afraid that if he turned his head to look down Crowley's road he'd see the two of them together, hand in hand, skipping gleefully and drugfully toward the prison. Completely happy without Dean telling Castiel to quit doing all the stuff he obviously loved to do. "I'll think about it, Sammy."

And Sam offered a smile.

But Dean didn't have to think about it – or at least, he wasn't given the option to _not_ think about it – because Castiel was popping up all over the place. If Dean was walking to class, Castiel would be on his knees in front of his locker, digging something out. If he was walking to the bathroom and Dean happened to look into a math class, Castiel was scribbling in a notebook. When Dean walked out of the lunch room after his lunch period, Castiel was already in line choosing between crappy lunch food and more crappy lunch food. Castiel was everywhere.

But that wasn't the worse of it.

Last time Dean saw Castiel before February break, he told him they would never get back together. The look of pain on his face was something Dean couldn't shake. The week before – when they were over but Castiel was trying to stay clean to prove to Dean it was a onetime thing – Castiel looked like shit. He looked like he cried all the time and had nothing to live for. John said that Castiel was going kamikaze, that he was using the drugs to slowly kill himself, but Dean wondered what gave the man that idea.

Because Castiel looked great.

In school, Castiel was wearing slacks, a dress shirt, and a vest, but the suit jacket was missing. Crowley's fedora was either on his head or tucked in his hands. His hair was styled, and he looked physically clean and respectable, but worse than that, he was smiling. When Castiel walked into chemistry, he threw a look into the hall with a giant smile on his face. He wasn't sweating or nearly vomiting – he was undoubtedly high – but he seemed so human, so genuinely happy. Foggy a bit, maybe, but he wasn't in pain anymore. And he had seemed like he was in constant pain from the moment Dean told him he had to give up the drugs a month or so before.

When he sat next to Dean, he wavered. The fedora rested on the desk, he pulled a notebook out and he started coloring with highlighters before Dean could think to ask him something. They had a lab today, and there was no way the two of them were going to work through it. No freaking way.

Because apparently, they were never meant to work through anything.

About two minutes before lab started, there was a knock on the door. The shape looming in the corner of the window was obvious to Dean, and the teacher frowned at it. The door opened, and Crowley leaned himself against the jamb, grinning up at the teacher.

"Could I borrow Castiel for a moment?" He asked, like it was a normal request, like any student could just pull another student out of class. Before she even answered, Castiel folded up his notebook and slipped his fedora on his head. He ran his fingers across the brim, and from the corner of his eye, he snuck a look at Dean, a pitiful thing, screaming apologies.

"What?" The teacher asked. "No, you can't just…"

"Oh, well, it's about his brother," Crowley's hands slipped into his pockets, and Dean had never notice it before, but he did now. He had seen Crowley high on Adderall and cocaine, but this was something different. Something depressant. If Crowley wasn't shooting up with Castiel, he was at least popping Oxys like it was his job. He seemed too at ease, less like he had a stick up his ass. They both looked too clean and pulled together to be on heroin, and Dean thought about what else they might have gotten themselves into. Then he didn't wonder anymore. He didn't care. It wasn't his business.

Castiel walked up to the teacher, sliding past her to smile at Crowley. "Five minutes," he told her, and she seemed baffled when Crowley slipped his arm around Castiel's shoulder and grinned back at her, before they walked off.

She shut the door and told them to get with their lab partners.

Months ago, Dean asked Castiel to help him with chemistry. That he'd never get anywhere copying Castiel – he certainly wouldn't pass the tests or the finals – and he had been averagely B- in the subject all year. But he suddenly realized that he had never once actually done a lab. He'd never written up a lab report. Castiel never taught him to do this on his own because the labs weren't on the final test.

He was frowning at the sheet, trying to determine what he'd even _need_ for the experiment when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. It was gentle and small, and Dean sighed, wishing it was Castiel's hand.

"Is it true?" She asked, but she already knew. Dean didn't even bother nodding. "Well, I'll be your partner on this one. Chuck said he'd work with Castiel when he got back."

Dean just dug his palms into his eyes as Lisa started working on the experiment.

When Castiel did show up five minutes later – his hair slightly out of place, but otherwise still pristine – he didn't even need to ask. He just sat down four benches away from Dean. Voices drifted from the other side of the room, like this was normal, like it had been like this since the first day of school.

Dean watched the fire under the Bunsen burner until his eyes started to water. He'd gladly blame it on the flame.

* * *

It wasn't long after that that Castiel overdosed.

He wasn't sure when, exactly, it happened, but he remembered why. He had already shot up about an hour ago, and he was laying on Crowley's fancy couch in the living room, head swimming as his eyes stared unfocused at the TV in front of him. Then a woman was standing in front of the TV, hands on her hips, saying, "Is that Ewan McGregor's penis?"

"I like Ewan McGregor's penis," Castiel heard his voice respond, but he didn't feel his mouth move. Somehow, Crowley's mom got him sitting up enough for her to slide her lap under his head. He was like a doped up cat, and he practically purred with the way her fingers scratched at his scalp. She paused over a scab, thumbing it with the ball of her thumb before she set her nail to it, scratching the dead skin away and causing the wound to open again.

Castiel sighed and pushed his cheek into her leg.

"I wouldn't have thought Crowley even owned _Velvet Goldmine_ ," Mrs. Crowley answered, holding up her bloody fingers to examine them, like she'd never had blood under her nails before.

Castiel managed to roll onto his back, grabbing her wrist and putting it back down into his hair. "I think he bought it for me," Castiel admitted. "But I think he has a secret crush on Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, too. I can't even watch the Batman movies because I hate Christian Bale so much because of what he did to Jonny and Ewan. Plus, him jacking off to a picture of some glam rockers kind of put me off, too."

She chuckled and started playing in his hair again. His eyes slid shut, because it was better than letting her see them roll back. He didn't want her to get the wrong impression, just in case she was a cougar.

They were quiet for a few moments, just content to take the warmth and easy trust they were offering each other. Castiel missed his own mother, and Crowley and his mother were never affectionate like this. So the pair of them fell easy into the roles that weren't meant for them. But Mrs. Crowley shattered all that when she said, "I'm sorry to hear about your mother. She was my best friend growing up." Castiel hummed, just thankful that with the Oxys in Europe and the heroin back home, that she had started leaving him alone again.

"I mean, I knew she was troubled and tried to take her life before, but she loved you kids. I'm surprised she actually did it. Especially with your father gone."

Castiel's eyes opened, and he tried to sit up, but the relay between his brain and his stomach wasn't working, so it took him a moment to scramble off his friend's mother, frowning at her like he was the butt of a cosmic joke. "My mom didn't kill herself. She was on a business trip."

Mrs. Crowley frowned back, "No, she was in a psych ward in Kansas City. She'd been in out of there for years. Never really had a job her whole life. Who told you she was on a business trip?"

"I-I don't know," Castiel's mind was racing and his heart was pounding in his chest. He looked for Crowley, wondered where the fuck he could be. He wondered what day it was – was Castiel skipping school? What time was it? – and he needed to get out of here fast. He needed Lucifer. "Maybe Zachariah?"

"One of the black ones?"

Castiel was frowning, his mind working at something he should have thought about years ago, but it just wasn't coming to him. "No, the oldest one."

"Oh," she said. "Still one of your adopted brothers."

"No," Castiel said, frowning. "We're all brothers… we…" and that was it. His breakthrough. Somewhere, his mind was screaming that it was a lie, but it was true. It seemed true, anyway. He never saw pictures of Zachariah before he was one. It was genetically impossible for Uriel and Raphael to have both Anna and Jimmy Novak as their biological parents. He couldn't believe he hadn't even thought of that before. He couldn't believe he didn't notice that they couldn't possibly be blood related. He had always been told they were brothers, and he never once questioned what his parents told him. Around the time he should have, he started taking drugs instead. "No," he said again, and stood on shaky legs.

She stood with him and gripped his arm, trying to help him stabilize himself. He swatted her off and started making his way to the kitchen, hands fumbling at the door as he pushed it open and padded down to the basement.

Crowley wasn't there either.

He was already too high – it seemed like if he didn't mix cocaine with the heroin, he accidently took too much heroin in a way of overcompensating – but he needed something. Something that he was missing. Something he couldn't have anymore, so he went to drugs instead. His fingers were shaking when he untied the balloon, mixing too much over the candle. This was going to kill him. He was going to die.

Maybe his mother could give him some answers.

He needed Dean to put himself between Castiel and the edge. This rooftop was too high. But Dean wasn't going to save him anymore.

This was going to end this way anyway. Why not skip the between?

He filled the needle, squirted out the air, and took a breath. Thirty seconds after he took the shot, he blacked out on the floor.

* * *

Crowley frowned when walked in his house, tossed his keys on the table, and found his mom curled up on the couch, watching the second half of _Velvet Goldmine_ alone. He walked to her and pushed the brown bag of groceries toward her, but she looked like she had been crying, her fingers covered in blood, a cinnamon-apple candle lit on the end table.

"Mom?" Crowley asked, grabbing her wrist, putting two and two together pretty damn fast. "Where's Castiel?"

"He went downstairs half an hour ago," she wiped her eyes. "He didn't know his brothers were adopted, or his mom killed herself. I didn't know he didn't know, AJ. I swear."

Crowley dropped the bag and ran downstairs. He couldn't see Castiel at first glance, but noticed the candle burning and swore. A step toward the candle revealed him, still and blue on the floor. Crowley was at his friend's side, putting a hand down to check for breath.

It was faint, but still there.

"Fuck," he yelled, running back upstairs.

His mother was still out of it on the couch, completely fucking typical, and Crowley took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. He opened his parents' bedroom door and crashed into their en suite bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and tossing things into the sink. "C'mon, c'mon," muttered, before he held up a box labeled Narcan, and ran back downstairs. He didn't spare a look at his mother as he raced to the basement.

Castiel hadn't moved. He was still a blue lump on the floor; his heart was barely beating, his lungs barely breathing.

Crowley opened the box, and handled the needle clumsily. He pressed down on Castiel's arm to get a vein to pop, but he had a bruised bulls-eye painting his vein from his last injection. His arm was already getting infected from his careless needlework. Crowley pushed the Narcan in after it and plunged the drug into his friend's body.

Within a minute, Castiel's eyes shot open and he took a deep inhale, like he had been about to drowned and could suddenly breathe again. His eyes moved nervously from Crowley to the needle, and he fought to sit up.

After three more minutes, the heroin withdrawal started, and he was hunched over a bucket, trying to keep whatever he had eaten for lunch in his stomach.

After twenty minutes, he was talking. Although, talking was an interesting way to put it.

"I fucking hate you," Castiel was writhing on the floor, trying to crawl himself to the bar to find a drug to take. Crowley kept grabbing at his arms and legs, pulling him back down to the floor. "You fucking… you fucking…"

"I fucking saved your life," Crowley yelled, still shaking from finding his friend nearly dead. "Do you know how much that shit costs? You're fucking lucky I value your life enough to waste it."

"Why do you even have that shit anyway?" Castiel whined, giving up on his pursuit. He was sweating and panting on the basement floor. He rested there for a minute, maybe two, before he pushed himself up on his arms, crawling toward his friend and collapsing in his lap.

Crowley didn't answer. He couldn't answer. What mattered was that he kept heroin antagonist in his house – that he _needed_ to keep it there – and what mattered was that one shot of it attacked the heroin in his body, effectively detoxing him in minutes. Crowley lowered a hand to his friend's hair, quickly finding the new scab that was forming thanks to his mother. He helped his sick friend stand and guided him toward his bed.

When Crowley sat down next to him, Castiel grabbed his shoulder and tugged, dragging him down so they were laying side-by-side. "Let me get some Neosporin for your head," Crowley begged, trying to sit up again. Castiel just shook his head, throwing his arm over the British teen to keep him there. The younger addict pushed kisses against Crowley's shirt, trying to keep his mind off the withdrawal. Crowley wrapped an arm around Castiel, pushed his nose in the other boy's hair, and tried not to cry.

* * *

After that, Crowley and Castiel became sort of official.

At least, they couldn't keep their hands off of each other.

It was March 10th, and the past two weeks (since they "got together") had passed roughly for everyone. Everyone except Crowley and Castiel.

Castiel was chewing gum, leaning against a table in Lucifer's Church with Crowley's phone in his hands, mostly ignorant to his surroundings. His whole damn focus was on the phone. The same couldn't be said for Crowley. He was sitting on the table behind Castiel, his legs spread so the younger boy was leaning into him, and he was kissing and nipping at Castiel's neck.

Castiel seemed completely unaffected and uninterested in the foreplay, but Lucifer knew better by now. He didn't bother Sam with the development – the pair of them had practically seen the fornication, drugs did something terrible to their modesty – and this necking was nothing new. But Sam could sense his discomfort, and he took a look, frowning over his boyfriend's shoulder at the pair behind him.

"Dean never objectified him like that," Sam huffed, certainly loud enough for Crowley to hear.

"Well your brother is a moron," Crowley said around kisses. Castiel started thumbing the phone. He used to react when Dean was brought up. He was so high all the time now that he rarely reacted to anything. "Both for letting him go and for hiding my angel away when he had him."

Sam growled, hands balling into fists. Lucifer reached out to him, brushing his fingers across Sam's forearm. The skin-on-skin affection stilled the shorter boy, but it wouldn't work for long. They were going to have to leave.

And Lucifer was getting real fucking sick of having to leave the only place he could call home because of the two of them.

"Who the fuck are you texting?" Crowley suddenly asked, arms reaching around to grab the phone from Castiel. The blue-eyed boy's hands fell into his lap, and Crowley read the conversation with horror growing on his face. "You're… you're fucking sexting my cousin? On my phone?"

Castiel shrugged.

"She's a fucking girl, you moron."

Castiel turned, his eyebrows rising in a distinctly wicked way, something he learned in Europe or the drugs had taught him, because Sam was sure as hell that Castiel never gave that look a month ago when he and Dean were still together. "She was pretending to be a guy."

"Omi-fucking-God, angel," Crowley maneuvered Castiel so they were face to face, put his hands on his hips and tugged them closer. Their mouths crashed together like they were fighting. Castiel's hands found Crowley's jacket and started shrugging it off the British boy's shoulders. Lucifer had been surprised with how quickly they could undress each other in the past and he would never make the mistake of giving them time again.

"Oh no," Lucifer walked across the room, grabbing his brother and tugging him away. "I'm not going to sit here and watch my brother be sodomized by the likes of you." Castiel smiled at him, but second by second it fell, when he started making the connection that Lucifer was angry. That this must actually bother him. His eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, still processing when Crowley stood, grabbed his arm, and started tugging him toward the door.

"Don't matter, does it, angel?" he snapped. "Cause there's a whole fucking forest out there. We'll just give you some nice grass stains on those jeans."

Castiel must have still been processing. He let Crowley drag him away, and at the last moment, he raised his arm to wave goodbye to his brother, like he couldn't tell that Lucifer really was mad at him.

He was pumped full of a lot of drugs.

Lucifer hadn't realized that he peacocked until he felt himself shrinking back to size, shoulders slumping and chin falling forward to meet his chest. He ran his hands through his hair once before resting them on the back of his neck, pulling himself to look even smaller. It didn't last, though. Within seconds his fingers were back in his hair, digging at his scalp in frustration.

"Hey," Sam said, walking across the room to reach out to him. In the past two weeks his shoulder had healed completely, no more pain at all, but even if he had been touching his boyfriend more frequently with access to both hands, he still loved the feeling of his fingers under Lucifer's shirt, trailing the muscle just under his belly button. Lucifer flinched, hands leaving his hair to wrap around Sam's. It was the best way to deal with the scalp mutilation, Sam discovered. Nothing snaps everything into perspective like a man's underage boyfriend trying to get frisky with him. "There isn't anything you can do about them being together."

"There is," Lucifer tightened his hold on Sam's hands. "There has to be, Sam. I can't just sit around while he kills himself. He didn't just sit and watch me bleed out. Crowley's giving him the gun and the bullets. He's teaching him how to load the damn thing. He was never this bad when he was with Dean. And… and Crowley… He's so desperate for anything Castiel will give him that… They're killing each other." Lucifer frowned, eyes falling to Sam's chest. "We have to get Dean to take Castiel back."

"I've been trying," Sam frowned. "He thinks Castiel is happy. He's so far into denial that… I don't know how we're going to make him see that Cas isn't happy at all. I mean, did that look happy to you?"

Lucifer shook his head. "Even Crowley isn't happy. He's always been against hard drugs. When I found out they were taking coke last time I couldn't believe it. Now he's popping Oxys like someone'll take them away if he doesn't eat them all. And it's because he knows that this thing with Castiel isn't right or healthy. But he doesn't think he deserves better. He's playing at happy going down with Castiel because he doesn't think he could find the real thing." Lucifer frowned and took a deep breath. "Wow, that came out of nowhere."

Sam's fingers trailed up Lucifer's wrists, thumbing the scars. Lucifer's eyes rose to hold Sam's, and the smaller boy sighed. "We need to get Cas and Dean back together."

* * *

Gabriel had sort of always wondered what Castiel saw in Dean Winchester. To him, Dean had been a voice of… well, not reason per se, but a voice of warning, anyway. There would be nights when Gabriel and Sam would be on opposite couches in the Winchester's living room, whispering about a prank, and Dean would just appear, give them a _I disapprove of you_ look, and Sam would stop. Just stop.

Dean Winchester had always been a prank cockblock.

But there was so much more to him.

There was this way that Dean looked at Gabriel from the corner of his eye, a smile on his lips behind the press of a beer bottle that actually made Gabriel's heart skip a beat. The easiness had been unexpected too. The way Dean would get shitfaced and want to kiss him. It was endearing, no seriously, Gabriel was flattered, but this wasn't about him, no matter how much he wondered what it would be like to kiss Dean.

Not that he actually wondered about that stuff. Because he didn't, okay?

And if he did wonder, it was purely educational. Dean was a king among women (before he found Castiel and admitted to loving dick, too, but whatever), and there had to be some trick to that. He must be a fan-fucking-tastic kisser to have a list of women that long. Gabriel only thought about it because he was curious of any pointers.

And honestly, it didn't even freak Gabriel out a little that the thought of kissing Dean crossed his mind once or twice for research purposes. Gabriel had never held himself down with any sort of labels – they were pointless and stupid – but the Winchesters had won the genetic lottery. Gabriel wasn't blind. And how many times before Lucifer drew that stupid star on Sam's arm had Gabriel thought about how Sam's hair was growing – growing to look like _his_ – and how it was ridiculously attractive on him? He wasn't pissed at Lucifer for stealing his first mancrush, okay? He just wasn't.

But Gabriel was undoubtedly a Sam-girl. Despite how easy Dean would be.

But he was also scared of Dean cooties and kissing Dean would seriously fuck up the operation.

He sort of felt like Eros (because he'd be damned if he equated himself to his Cupid cousins) with an arrow. Or at least, he had at first. The plan had been simple. Gabriel was to act as the go-to Novak, just so Dean didn't hate the lot of them. Dean seemed to be the vengeful spirit type, and Gabriel thought if he could get in with Dean, the older boy would see a bit of his brother in him. Gabriel and Castiel looked nothing like brothers, their personalities were polar opposites, but there is something about family that Dean would relate to. Something that would remind Dean of what he was missing and slowly push him toward Castiel again.

He needed to hang out with Dean a lot so he could start planting thoughts in that freckled head of his, but unfortunately, part one was going too well. Anytime Dean and Gabriel were alone, it resulted in an awkward sexual tension that Gabriel couldn't believe.

Because despite how genetically attractive Dean Winchester was, Gabriel was not into him in _that_ way. Plus the thought of putting his something in something his brother already put his something into seemed a little too weird to him.

(Then you should make your move with Sam fast, Gabey. Luci is only going to wait as long as he's legally required to. No, shut up shut up. Not pissed. Happy for them. Fuck you.)

"What's wrong with you?"

Gabriel flashed a smile at his lab partner. She was a sophomore, but in Freshman biology because she transferred from a school that taught earth science to freshmen. She stared at his smile, completely unaffected by his charm.

"Nothing, Kali," Gabriel tried a little harder, writing down the rules of the upcoming dissection in his notebook. Mostly, cutting open a fetal pig seemed cruel and disgusting, but he assumed Kali would take the wheel. He felt confident in her destructive hands. "Boy problems."

The girl flashed a smirk at him, her mouth twisting in that evil way it did when she was about to say something particularly dark. Most people hated Kali. She was different. She wore a lot of black and really liked death and carnage, but behind her macabre exterior, she was just like any other high school girl. And by that he meant batshit insane.

"I didn't know you were into dudes," she said, smirk still on her face.

Gabriel waggled his eyebrows at her, completely unaffected by the insinuation, and winked, "Well now that you know, how's about a threesome?"

She smiled at him. Her dark eyes, rimmed with kohl, lit up but Gabriel didn't know if she thought it was a joke or she was seriously considering the offer, but Gabriel wasn't sure himself. That was half the fun, wasn't it?

"It's stupid Dean Winchester," Gabriel went on. "He broke up with my brother, and I'm trying to get them back together."

"I thought your brother was fucking Crowley," she whispered back. Gabriel noticed her usual sarcasm wasn't lacing the words. People hated the two of them nowadays. Either they knew Castiel cheated and hated him for that, or they knew that they were having nearly public sex all the time and hated them for being open with their homosexual love. Kansas was ignorant, but Gabriel would be surprised if Castiel or Crowley even knew about the hate. They were too far into their drugs and sex to notice much of anything else.

But Gabriel seriously appreciated the non-judgment tone in her voice.

"He is. But he was fucking Dean first, and I like Dean better."

"I think I like Crowley," Kali said with a frown, her eyes traveling back to the front of the room, where the PowerPoint slide was showing a mutilated pig corpse and Gabriel felt sick. Kali just tilted her head at it, like the placement of the organs held the key to every one of life's greatest mysteries. "He never pretends to be anything he isn't. I didn't know Dean and your brother were dating until they broke up. Crowley would fuck him up against a locker without a thought. That might be interesting to see."

Gabriel sighed, "Yeah, well, don't suggest it to them because they really aren't above doing it." Kali brought her necklace to her mouth. It was one of those smarties necklaces children wore, but instead of brightly colored candy, hers had edible skulls. She bit down, and a kid in front of them flashed her an angry glare. She ignored him completely, and Gabriel admired the way her skin glowed in the projector's light.

"I'm just sick of it. I'm sick of all of it. My brothers are fighting, my favorite couple is done for, and I just want to fix something," he sighed. "I just want to change something."

"That's the problem with you Christian-types," She shot him a look, and Gabriel's eyebrows furrowed into a confused pout. "You're too involved. You always want to change somebody or fix something. Especially you Novak lot. Do you realize what your brothers are doing to this school? They're turning everyone against each other. They're going to destroy it. And it's not like they were the first set of egotistical assholes here."

"Those are my brothers," Gabriel hissed. "Not me. And just because I'm named for an angel, doesn't mean I'm not 100% Loki. I am a trickster _god_ , okay?"

Kali turned back to the front of the room, a small hum escaping her lips. They were quiet most of the way through biology. Suddenly, the girl spoke up again, a minute before the bell rang. "You need to make your brother jealous. Crowley is flaunting him at Dean. Dean needs to flaunt someone back. Every time I see him, he looks like he's trying to drink away his problems."

She paused, turning to look Gabriel right in the eye. "For our three-some, the other dude should be Chuck Shurley."

But then class was over, and Kali just stood and left the classroom, leaving Gabriel to gape at her backside.

* * *

Balthazar wasn't stupid, but he was sort of mean. He knew I didn't like hanging around the Crowley mansion (which he referred to as _Chez Bae_ but nobody else indulged his delusions of grandeur, not even Bela), but that normally wouldn't stop him from making us meet there to talk. When I pulled up in front of the house, ready to swallow my fear and enter the house once again, I was surprised to see Balthazar leaning over a stroller, fixing Byron's jacket. Even though the child was almost two years old, it was always bizarre to see someone I graduated with with a child.

Twenty-six seemed too young. It seemed especially young for Balthazar Novak, who spent most of his teenage years swearing up and down he'd never love another human being, let alone have a wife and child.

When I shut my car door, he turned and looked at me, a grin spreading across his face. He said something to his son, and seconds later, the child was waving like I was someone he remembered and liked. Like I was family or something.

Balthazar pushed his son up the sidewalk toward me. He nodded for me to walk with him and for about a block, we walked in silence, the only sound coming from Byron as he spat words in rapid fire, practicing his speech without any real meaning. Every few feet he would turn to look at us, and Balthazar would nod and occasionally laugh. I wondered if he could really understand his son's mumbling.

Though between Balthazar, Bela, and Castiel, chances are the kid wasn't even speaking English. Balthazar probably could understand whatever language the boy was practicing.

We got to the playground before we started talking business. There were a few other kids on the playground, but Byron sat in the woodchips near his father's feet like he couldn't stand to be away from him. Balthazar put his ankle over his knee, leaning back. We couldn't see our breath in the spring air – it was a cool May but still much too warm for that – but the morning air was cold enough to bring out some pink on Balthazar's cheeks. He blew out a puff of air, testing the temperature, before turning to look at me.

"How's Gabe?"

"Just fine," I answered. "Walked in on him and Kali on the couch last night, so really nothing new."

Balthazar let out a bark of laughter, and Bryon turned to look at them, tilting his head, a habit he must have picked up from his Uncle Castiel. It only lasted a second before he stood, walking toward the swings ten feet in front of them. Balthazar watched his son, but the chuckle was still dying in his throat.

"They do it to get to you, you know. You should bring that girl of yours over more."

"Every time I bring someone to meet them, I end up walking in on the three of them. It's like Gabriel doesn't care at all," I sighed, flipping open my notebook, trying to hint at my discomfort at the topic.

"Except you know it's just the opposite. They actually care too much," Balthazar added, but let the discussion stop by saying, "So my big arms deal, right?"

"Yes," I let my eyes drift back to Byron. His arms were looped over the plastic seat and he was twisting the chain in a circle before lifting up and letting it spin him in a circle. "Do you think he'll get sick?"

"If he does, he does. He'll stop if he doesn't like it anymore or if he finds something better to do. That's the one thing I learned from my time hanging out with Cas and AJ, you know. You'll keep doing something, even if it makes you sick, until you find something better."

Balthazar said that he walked to the Church that day trying to remember why he was the arms dealer anymore. It took months – even for a rich, white kid – to get a gun on the street. The other gun he had wasn't really illegal. He stole it from his parents' room sometime after his dad left. He kept it as a keepsake. He wouldn't shoot it, but sometime he would feel the cold metal in his hands and think about how his dad held the gun in his hand too. It brought him comfort knowing that at one time his father felt the need to have a weapon like that at all.

It made Jimmy Novak seem more human.

He thought it would be easier with the drugs and prostitution popping up to get a gun, but his last name was a double-edged sword. It gave him some notoriety on the street – little brother of the gang leader, little brother of the drug dealer in the park – but it mostly made people afraid. If they sold Balthazar a gun and something _happened_ to him, his brothers would come looking for them.

It was kind of cool, like mafia level cool, except he knew his brother's didn't deserve their reputations. Lucifer wasn't running a gang; he was trying really hard not to stick it into Sam Winchester and get himself arrested. Castiel could barely get out of bed some days because he was so doped up on the drugs he was supposed to be selling.

Balthazar would watch Castiel in the club some nights. On a good week, he'd sell twice. What he didn't sell he pocketed, but Crowley never asked for payment back. Not anymore. Not when he was getting what he really wanted now.

So long story short, Balthazar found someone who would sell him a gun. But he lived forty-five minutes away in Kansas City.

And true, at this point, he had made a small fortune making fake IDs and Lucifer stopped asking for money two months ago. He was rolling in money – the profits from the club alone must be astounding – but his will was gone. Lucifer won. Even though he started this game to make Michael lose (and Michael's following was growing in Lucifer's absence), but Lucifer got what he really wanted. Sam. And so, really, he won. And he wasn't running a gang – he didn't have a need for a gun anymore – but Balthazar wanted to do this. He wanted to do this one thing. To prove it to himself that he could.

And to spend one day away from Bela.

Balthazar walked into the Church, expecting to find Lucifer and ask him to borrow one of Crowley's cars and drive him out there. Lucifer would probably agree just for something to do, but Balthazar had a list of reasons why he should take him – a whole bunch of stuff about growing up and becoming a man – but he didn't find Lucifer in the Church.

Instead, Castiel was sitting on table in the corner, holding a phone in front of his face, chewing on some gum. He seemed to be totally focused on the phone, which was strange because his shirt was unbuttoned and Crowley was tugging at the button in Castiel's pants, nipping at the boy's ribs.

Castiel turned to see who walked in and offered a grin before he went back to the phone. Crowley growled, pulling his face away from the skin to try to thread the button through the material. When he noticed Balthazar, he offered a, "Hey, Bae," but kept at working at the pants like they didn't care someone was interrupting.

Balthazar doubted he was interrupting. If Crowley ever won his battle against the jeans, Balthazar doubted that his presence would deter the two of them from doing whatever they intended on doing. That's just how they were anymore. They couldn't see past the drug-fog and the immediate set of desires placed on them.

So it was up to the younger Novak to stop them. "Hey, I need to go to Kansas City. Will you give me a ride?"

Castiel didn't look up from the phone, but Crowley stood, completely forgetting his previous task with a new one suddenly at hand as he nodded, "Sounds like fun. I'll call Meg."

"What?" Balthazar asked as Crowley took his phone back from Castiel. With nothing in his hands, Castiel started threading the buttons of his shirt back together. Balthazar doubted it had anything to do with modesty; his older brother was probably just cold. "Why Meg?"

"Her boyfriend lives there," Crowley said. "She's always trying to bum rides."

Thirty minutes later found Balthazar in the backseat of Crowley's dad's brand new Jaguar convertible next to Meg, seriously questioning his life choices. Despite the fact that Crowley was way too high to drive, he managed to get on 70 just fine, driving with his right hand, his left sitting on the open window, fingers threaded through his hair. He looked bored, it looked like the driving was easy, but he looked half asleep. Castiel was flipping through Sirius stations, never staying on a song for more than fifteen seconds before turning it to something else. At least Meg was keeping her trap shut, focusing on her phone in front of her.

It was an unusually warm day for March, but going 70 miles an hour with the top down, Balthazar was freezing. He knew if they crashed, they would probably all die. He wished he thought of that before he asked the incredibly high duo for a ride.

Oh well, if he died, that would save him the trouble of having to break up with Bela and being _that_ jackass.

Castiel made a strange noise when he landed on a station and Crowley suddenly came to life. The two of them were laughing, nearly bouncing in their seat to new rap song playing over the stereo, and Balthazar just tried to ignore them.

" _Hot shit!"_

" _I'm going down down, baby, yo' street in Range Rover. Street sweeper, baby, cocked, ready to let it go."_

Balthazar sighed, frowning when he saw his brother digging in his pack of cigarettes, pulling something out that was certainly _not_ a cigarette. He lit it and breathed in; he held it in his lungs for a moment before exhaling. He offered the joint to Crowley, but the other boy had his eyes in the rear view.

"Meg, you still whoring for money?" Crowley asked.

"Where the fuck do you think you're driving me to?" She snapped, not bothering to look up from her phone.

"I'll give you fifty if you blow me right now."

"Isn't your boyfriend right there?" She finally looked up, hitting the back of Castiel's seat for emphasis. He just shrugged, leaning back and exhaling a long breath.

"He don't care," Crowley turned and grinned at Castiel. For his part, Castiel looked like he truly couldn't care less. "I'm coming back."

Meg's phone was completely abandoned, her eyes wide when she screamed _"What?"_ but it was too late. The cruise control was already set and the second Crowley unbuttoned his seatbelt, Castiel followed suit. Castiel held the wheel steady as the driver eased his way into the back, while trying to avoid the 70 mph wind threatening to knock him off balance and out of the car. When he finally settled on his back between Meg and Balthazar, the younger Novak's heart was beating out of his chest. He shut his eyes, trying to force everything back to normal, but he opened his eyes when he felt an elbow digging into his ribs.

"Up front, Novak." Crowley growled. "You take up too much space if you aren't participating."

When Balthazar looked, Castiel had already shifted to the driver's seat, joint resting between his lips as he tugged the seatbelt back over him. Fighting against the wind seemed easier than going with it – Balthazar was comforted knowing if he fell back, he'd knock into Crowley and probably not fall to his death – and the second he sat down, he put his seatbelt on, shutting his eyes again.

This time, he opened them when he felt a poke. Castiel's eyes were on the road, but his hand and the joint was extended toward him. Balthazar took it, for no other reason than to get it away from the driver. He didn't take a drag, but Castiel didn't comment on that, he only asked, "What's wrong?"

Balthazar heard a noise from the backseat. He didn't mean to tell Castiel, he really didn't, but for some reason, it all just came out in two, damning words. "Bela's late."

"Bela was supposed to be coming?" Castiel frowned, looking at the time on the dash like he personally forgot to pick her up. "We could turn back, but we're almost there."

"No, you moron. Her period. She's late." Balthazar studied the way the embers on the paper were dying. Castiel's silence wasn't awkward for the right reason, so Balthazar growled, "She thinks she's pregnant."

"Oh," Crowley gasped from the back seat. Castiel mimicked the word, but his sounded a little more enlightened.

"I always wanted a niece or a nephew," Castiel offered, completely unhelpfully. "Kids too, but I was pretty young when I realized I'd never have one biblically. Now I'll never have kids, but… I'd love yours like he or she was my own if I'm around to meet him or her."

Balthazar sighed, grabbing the lighter from the cup holder in the front, reigniting the paper and taking a deep breath in. He choked it out, but tried again and the second time was a bit easier. "Well I'm sixteen, Cassie. I can't be a daddy. I'm a kid myself, you know? We didn't really have parents to show the right way to raise a kid and look at how we turned out. I can't raise…" Balthazar sighed. "I won't. If she's pregnant, she has to get rid of it, or I'm gone."

"You should have thought about the risks before you suck it in her, Bale."

Balthazar snorted, "That's rich coming from you. Really fucking rich, Castiel. You can't get a girl pregnant, but you could get AIDS or something. You ever think about that? Don't you think that British fuck back there has something?"

Castiel's eyes slipped into the rear view mirror for a second. Balthazar didn't dare to look, but he could imagine the scene. Castiel just shrugged, dropping his eyes to the road once more. "I don't really care if he does."

Balthazar started making complaints about how Castiel _should_ care, how he should go get tested and how he should stop with the drugs and how he could do so much better, but Castiel cut him off. He frowned, but refused to make eye-contact.

"You misunderstand. I don't care if I have something anymore. I don't care if there's something inside me that's slowly shutting my body down. I don't care about that, Balthazar, because if your girlfriend _is_ pregnant, I won't be here to see when my niece or nephew is born. I just won't. I don't have nine months left in this place, brother. I can't… I… What I mean to say is that you should man up and respect Bela. It's her body and her choice, but you helped to create that life. You need to take responsibility for your actions."

"Cassie, you can't say stuff like that," Balthazar wasn't sure if Castiel could even hear him over the wind and the radio. "Why wouldn't you be here?"

"How long will it be until I crash a car because I was high, or how long until Crowley does the same and I'm his passenger? How long until I overdose and Crowley can't find me in time? One month? Three months? Nine, so I can see your baby? A year or maybe two?" Castiel shook his head. "I'll never have that easy love that you and Bela have. Not ever again, anyway. And I could never have a happy accident like this. But some days, I wish I was like you so I could just accidently knock up my girlfriend. It would be so normal. Some days, I wish I could at least go back and fix everything I've broken…"

Byron abandoned the swing, stumbling back over to us on shaky legs. Balthazar talked about it easily. He knew this future – he knew Castiel was happy and loved in a way he never thought he would be – he knew Castiel's _year or maybe two_ had turned into ten. But that didn't stop my heart from clenching. Knowing that boy's future didn't stop me from looking into his past, thinking how accurate he almost was about not living longer than a month.

I swallowed, the bile too close to coming up, and I tried to force it down. I didn't expect to get invested in them like this.

Balthazar picked up Byron, sitting the boy on his lap. He closed his eyes and leaned back against his father, and I knew it wasn't my place, but I had to ask.

"Was she pregnant?"

"No. Just a scare. Basically I went out behind the Church and shot at soda cans for a week until she found me back there. It was awkward, like she knew I would have left if she was, like she wasn't sure if she could take me back or trust me. And then I started crying like a fuc – er – like a baby. I was actually disappointed, you know? Castiel got to me. That he might not be around in nine months, and I thought, what if he isn't around to see my kids in the future? What if my kids only know my older brother from pictures when he was seventeen? And I kept thinking… if I had gotten her pregnant, if Cassie knew he was going to be an uncle, would he have done it? That… night in April, you know what I mean?"

I nodded, but then I shrugged. I didn't have the answer. I doubted even Castiel had the answer. If I had to guess, Castiel would have said _a baby wouldn't change anything_ , but I didn't know if I would have believed him.

But someone did have the answer, and Byron's blue eyes shot open, wide and bright, and he announced, "Cazzie loves me."

Balthazar huffed out a laugh, releasing the tension along with a tear, which he quickly wiped away. "Yes, he does, Byron."

"He say when he get a baby, he want it to be like me. And I would have a cuzzin." Byron pointed to the notebook in my lap. I took the hint and wrote it down.

Balthazar ran his fingers over his son's fine hair, "I told him that he has a cousin, that Uncle Zach's kid is his cousin, but we don't see them more than a few times a year since cause they live out of state. I also told him Uncle Mickey would probably have a kid before Cassie does."

I laughed, "But I bet Lucifer will have a kid before both of them do."

"Oh without a doubt," Balthazar chuckled. "He's getting married in August, so I bet they'll have a kid as quick as possible."

"Or a dog," I added. "I heard they wanted to beta test with a dog."

"Yes," Balthazar agreed. "They freaking would. Every time he calls me he tells me about how they can't agree on a breed. I can't imagine the arguments that would happen over a human child."

We talked about other things for a couple of minutes, before the May air grew to be too much for Byron. The sniffles were starting, and Balthazar packed his son in the stroller, offering him a spare blanket that he packed just in case, and tossed a look back at me as we walked back to Crowley's mansion.

"You coming with Gabe to help with the move in next week? Cause if nobody invited you, I'm formally extending the invitation now."

"Yeah, I'll be there," I loaded my bag with my notebooks in the car. "Sam asked me to come a week or two ago, when I was still out in LA for my seminar."

Balthazar grinned, "You don't fool me, Mister _I don't have a clue about what I'll write for my final novel and I'm going to flunk out of the MFA program if you don't give me an idea_. Isn't the deadline for that coming up?"

"Don't remind me. I'm supposed to graduate in January if I can get this done by the middle of August. It has to be edited and printed and bound and everything before December first."

"Well, it's only May. I don't know why I'm saying this to the dude renting out my little brother's closet and calling it a bedroom, but I believe in you," Balthazar unbuckled Byron from the stroller and opened the door, letting the toddler run into the house. Balthazar offered a wave and called, "See you next week!"

I don't know why Balthazar saying he believed in me had any effect on me at all, but that night, Gabriel found me hunched over the computer, asleep, with a couple of thousand new words written on the screen. He tried to drag me to bed without waking me, but that plan failed when he walked me into my dresser, making me stub my toe so hard I collapsed to the ground.

However, the next day when I woke up, he did pop his head in to throw a bag of ice at me. That was kind of nice.

* * *

Benny was on the basketball team and that was what found Lucifer, Sam, and Gabriel at their school on the Ides of March. Lucifer and Sam liked basketball well enough. The older Novak was lounging, his back resting against the bleachers behind him with his arms open, stretching out. If Sam leaned back, Lucifer's arm would be wrapped around him, but instead, he was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hand.

Gabriel was just bored.

He told Lucifer and Sam about what Kali said, and while they felt that breaking Castiel and Crowley up was something that had to be done _now_ , they were willing to talk about it for the sake of their shared endgame. They assumed that this was still a provisional phase, where they were just seeing how things played out, but Gabriel was a man of action. The next day in class, Gabriel brought it up to Kali again, and she started listing off names of men who were rumored to swing for other men.

It was weird how perceptive she was.

Anyway, long story short, Gabriel and Kali agreed on Benny for a whole mess of reasons. He was arrogant. He thought he was hilarious. He was physically strong, and had a tendency to get into fights. Basically, he was very much like Dean.

Except for his looks.

They weren't allowed to have food or drink in the gym, but Kali walked up the bleachers with chili cheese nachos, sitting next to Gabriel and pointedly not offering anyone else any of the delicious treat.

"What'd I miss?" She asked.

"He does have blue eyes," Lucifer noted. "But his hair looks too much like Crowley's, I think."

"He could grow that out, though," Sam insisted. "I'm more worried about the beard. Cas and Crowley have them when they're too high to remember to shave, and so I think Dean equates the two in his head."

"But Benny's always been that jackass who had facial hair in high school," Lucifer countered. "I don't ever remember seeing him without it."

Gabriel reached for a nacho and Kali swatted his hand away. He pouted at her, and she shot him a look of annoyance, and Gabriel hated that his charm didn't work on the girl. He was wondering for the umpteenth time whether or not she was joking about the threesome.

"I think Dean is narcissistic enough to fall for a jocked-out copy of himself," Kali said, crunching on some nachos.

Sam shot her a dirty look, "He's my brother, you know."

Kali frowned at him, "I didn't say _you_ were narcissistic."

"Isn't this a family thing? What's she even doing here?"

"Hey, she is family," Gabriel insisted, surprising everyone. Two days ago Lucifer and Sam didn't even know the girl. Today she was acting like she spent the vast majority of her life cutting them down with her diagnoses. Which, maybe she did, but it had always been from afar. "She found Benny."

Gabriel was rewarded for his good behavior; Kali extended her box of nachos toward him. Gabriel was grateful. Lucifer just sighed and said, "Castiel is too fucking high all the time to even notice what's going on with Dean. He could have Benny bent over a desk in their chemistry class, and I doubt Castiel would notice."

"That's not true," Kali added. "Chuck tells me that Castiel watches Dean during chem-lab and when he turns in reports, he still writes Dean's name on them all, despite the fact that they stopped working together weeks ago."

"Chuck Shurley?" Gabriel asked, trying for innocent, but Kali just grinned, wicked as ever.

"I like Chuck Shurley."

Gabriel gulped. Lucifer and Sam were talking logistics – how they'd managed to get the two in a room together, how they'd coax Dean to _initiate_ something with Benny, what the fuck they were going to do to get Crowley and Castiel to stay off of each other – but Gabriel was too focused on the way Kali's sharp, black nail poked his side and she offered him another nacho.

* * *

It was Michael who accidently came to their rescue.

The dark-haired twin had been angsting it up for the past month – since he got in that fight with Dean – and it was showing around school. Some of the kids were starting to fall out of their youth groups, opting instead to hang at Lucifer's club. It wasn't a win for Lucifer; he was still making off the illegal selling of alcohol to minors, but when he and Sam got together, a lot of the other activities stopped. Meg came to him with whore money, and Lucifer told her to keep it – to let the girls know they didn't have to do this anymore, that if they wanted to keep doing it, they could keep the money – and the freedom actually cleaned up some of the girls. They went from drugged out prostitutes to mostly-or-completely clean escorts, kissing Lucifer on the cheek when they saw him, thanking him for the turn around.

He didn't get much drug money anymore, either, because Crowley and Castiel were consuming the shipment. People complained at first, but Dick Roman stepped in. He sold Crowley the heroin he needed to keep Castiel happy – Crowley still had a ton of Oxys and cocaine, too – and so there wasn't any drug selling traced back to him anymore either.

So they both were losing flock, but they were all ending up at Lucifer's club. It was the best place for teenagers to hang out and dance without supervision. Lucifer wasn't playing anymore. He had Sam. So he won. He didn't want anything else.

But Michael had grown quiet in the past month – had started counting with his eyes closed a lot – and Lucifer figured his twin was seeing the shrink again for his anger. They hadn't spoke, but Michael was definitely more like he used to be.

He would meet Lucifer's eye in the hallway, now. Sometimes he would even smile.

But that wasn't how Michael helped with Operation Denny. He helped with that because he happened to walk into the second-floor boy's bathroom at the wrong time.

Everyone knew that Crowley set up shop in that bathroom, and when he stopped selling, the bathroom was still useful for the British teen. It was an abandoned spot where he could fuck Castiel without interruption.

Long story short, Michael walked in to find his little brother on his knees before Crowley. The British teen's pants were open and halfway down his thighs, and his fingers were guiding Castiel's head. They didn't stop when Michael barged in, or when he barged out fuming in rage, screaming about how something had to be done.

It just so happened that Dean rounded the corner.

It wasn't exactly clear what Michael was thinking – or if he was really thinking – but something about Castiel giving a blowjob in the bathroom was Dean's fault, and Dean was flat-out on the floor before he even _saw_ Michael.

But this time he fought back.

They were both dragged off to the principal – Michael still screaming about how it was Dean's fault that Castiel was so fucked up and Dean telling Michael to fuck off – and Michael had a week of out of school suspension for starting it, and Dean got three days in school suspension for fighting back.

Lucifer found out first – the fight happened at 9 am – and he told Gabriel around 9:15. Gabriel had biology at 9:30, and by 9:35, Kali had three ideas: "Get him to bully you, get him to ditch class, or get him to pull the fire alarm."

Gabriel frowned, thinking about it for a second before asking, "Isn't that why three of the Breakfast Club kids are in detention?"

Kali nodded, slicing a Y down the pig's stomach. "Those are the three most likely reasons of the five. I doubt Benny would bring a gun to school or just show up because he has nothing better to do. Look, Gabe. I think this is the liver."

Kali told Sam the plan a few minutes later when she saw him in the hall. She was walking Gabriel to the nurse. He hit his head when he passed out.

At 11:30, the fire alarm rang. When Lucifer walked outside with his class, he walked like he couldn't feel the cold. Sam and Gabriel were huddled together on the sidewalk, and Kali was a little further down the sidewalk, drawing with a stick in the mud. Eventually the boys looked up, and Lucifer offered a thumbs up.

Sam and Gabriel went back to their pitiful shivering. By the end of the day, rumor said that Benny was the one who pulled the fire alarm. Rumor also said he had a couple of days ISS for it too.

That night, Dean was pissed about his black eye and the next three days of solitary. He got drunk and talked about skipping – but if he skipped, he'd have another day added on – so instead, he just went to bed.

Lucifer put his arm around Sam and kissed his forehead. "We are geniuses."

* * *

Dean was the first one in the In-School Suspension room that morning. It had been a while since he'd been in there – he hadn't been once his senior year, so far – but the room looked the same. Six tables were in the small room. In theory, the ISS room could hold twelve kids – two per table – but Dean almost always had the room to himself when he was suspended before. There were books lining the shelves, and the far wall had a row of windows. The ISS room was on the first floor, and therefore, it was freezing. At least his teachers were kind enough to drop off all of his homework, and he sat down at the front desk where his papers were spread out and opened his algebra book to start working.

Dean was surprised when the other guy walked in. Dean recognized him as the guy on the basketball team who was in a handful of his classes – Benny something or other – and nodded at him when he walked into the room. Usually jocks in ISS were pissy because it meant they'd miss a game. Benny grinned at him, like he didn't really care about it, and sat at the table behind Dean. The ISS monitor came in while Benny was digging out his homework, and she marked both boys as present.

Then she gave a look around the room like she was expecting someone else.

If things were still the way they used to be, the monitor was a borrowed teacher who had other things to do. Every period the teachers were supposed to switch, but with the state of education in America, there wasn't enough people to spare to watch the ISS kids all day every day. They would have a couple of hours to themselves, where they were left to their own devices.

Or in Dean's case, Sam's device, since he swiped his iPod this morning.

He could get most of his work done while the monitor was around. That way he'd be free when…

"I didn't think you would make it, Mr. Novak," the teacher said. And Dean turned, a grin forming on his lips at the shit he and Lucifer could get into during their free periods. The grin fell instantly when the boy walking in had dark hair and eyes a deeper blue than Lucifer's. He didn't look too good. His jeans were falling down his hips – he had to keep his hand at his waist to hold them up as he walked – his shirt was baggy to hide how small he'd gotten, and he was shivering.

His eyes found Dean's for a split second before he just sighed and walked as far away as he could – to the back corner by the windows – and threw his backpack on the table before putting his head down.

"No sleeping, Mr. Novak," the monitor warned.

"I'm going to vomit," he said, not lifting his head. "Might I go to the nurse?"

"You may not," she said. She kicked the trash can next to her. "Bring this back to your seat. _If_ you do get sick, you can go to the nurse then. And, just so you know, if you do get sick, you just have to make it up tomorrow. So you may want to try and hold your food down."

Dean looked back at his algebra homework to avoid looking at the boy again. He heard the footsteps, but Dean was suddenly more preoccupied with how badly his fist was shaking around his pencil. He couldn't name everything going on inside of him. He was pissed that Castiel was trying to use withdrawal to get out of suspension, but even more pissed that it didn't seem like it was going to work. But if Castiel left early today, he'd be back tomorrow anyway.

It wasn't like it was the first time he'd seen Castiel since they broke up, either. It'd been a month, and in that month, Dean saw Castiel a lot at Lucifer's club. Sometimes he bartended, most nights he'd dance, and at least a couple of times a week, he'd catch him in the middle of something explicit with Crowley – either in the VIP section, or the bathroom, or on the bar – but being stuck in a small room together all day, with no one there to play safety (like Sam and Lucifer often did), this was going to suck.

Castiel dragged the garbage bucket back to his desk, and when he sat down, he let out a pitiful moan. Dean had to shut his eyes to try and block out the sound. How many times had he rubbed Castiel's back as he made that noise, trying to sooth the tremors from his body, trying to help him through his withdrawal?

"Is he okay, you think?" Benny whispered. "If he yaks, I'm gonna too."

Dean turned around, not expecting the jock to be serious. He looked concerned – not about the boy's health, but his own – and Dean just hissed and shook his head.

"He's a junkie scumbag, so unless he gets his fix, yeah, he's gonna puke," he responded, not quite as quietly. The teacher didn't say anything, but Castiel definitely heard it across the room. He at least had the decency in his sobriety to shoot a hurt look at Dean. Something clenched in Dean's chest and he wished he could take it back. Their eye contact lasted for a tense few moments, before Castiel looked into his lap. The front of the table was open, and Dean could see him texting.

"How do you know?" Benny whispered, but Dean just turned around and tried to focus so hard on his algebra homework that he could drown out the sounds Castiel was making from the other side of the room.

* * *

Forty minutes later, the monitor left and Dean heard Benny breathe a sigh of relief. Dean wished he could do the same, but at least she kept Dean from getting up and doing something stupid like rubbing his ex-boyfriends back and trying to help him through the pain. She was gone for thirty seconds when Castiel's chair scratched across the floor and the boy stood, his palms flat against the table and his shoulders back, like he stood up too fast and was fighting the nausea.

Another couple of seconds passed before he walked the two feet from his table to the counter by the window. He pulled himself up on shaking arms, and opened the closest window enough to let some air get in. He sat with his back against the wall, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped protectively around his legs. He put his cheek on his knee, head turned so he could look out the window.

When Dean was sent to ISS, they intended to punish him. Putting him in a room with Castiel going through withdrawal, when they weren't together and Dean couldn't help him… it wasn't just punishment. It was torture.

"What'd you do to get in here this time, Winchester?" Benny asked, and Dean was surprised the jock knew his name.

"Fighting," He dropped his voice, not wanting Castiel to hear him. It didn't really matter. The room was designed to bounce sound around so the monitor could hear people talking. If Castiel heard or cared at all, he didn't let it show. He kept staring out the window. "Other guy got OSS. What about you?"

"Some jackass convinced me to pull the fire alarm," Benny rolled his eyes, folding his arms on the table and resting his head in them. And for the first time, Dean actually looked at Benny. Dude was wearing a military-grade coat, and Dean couldn't tell if his hat seemed militaristic, too, or if it was leather, it would look like some macho BDSM thing. His hair was light, sticking out from under it, his eyes were blue – somewhere between Castiel and Lucifer's shade – and the freaking easy smile he was giving Dean wasn't something he ever saw on another dude before. At least, not aimed at him. It made his heart clench in his chest trying to place it.

Not to mention his southern comfort voice. It didn't sound like the sticks. It sounded like a gentleman.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but a growl from the corner cut him off. "Oh, thank God," Castiel said, voice deeper and more wrecked than usual, and the boy started opening the bottom half of the window farther. It didn't have a screen on it – it was the first floor – and he could easily slip out if he wanted to. That didn't seem to be the end game. Instead, he let his feet dangle out, the smile growing on his face by the second until his teeth was showing, wide and insane, "Hello."

"I was sleeping, you idiot."

Dean recognized the voice. How couldn't he? The only one who sounded even remotely like that was Balthazar. If he thought his heart was doing things when Benny smiled at him, they were dwarfed by the feeling he got when he saw Castiel twitch – kicking out – and Crowley laughed from below him. The foundation left it so the first floor was raised up a few feet, so Dean couldn't look out and see the British teen, and he was very grateful for that.

"Here you are, angel," Crowley said from below, and Castiel reached down, nearly tumbling out of the window as he grabbed some pills and popped them in his mouth before accepting the water. He washed them down, then looked back down at his dealer.

"Nothing else?"

"What? You think you're just gonna shoot up or do lines in the ISS room? The Oxy'll hold you over 'til you get home. Don't be a jerk."

Dean could recognize the change in Castiel's posture. He knew there would be a pout on his face, and he was trying to see what else he could get out of the man. Apparently, Crowley knew Castiel pretty well too.

"I didn't bring anything more, cause you're not fucking doing that in front of other people. So you take what you get and don't look at me like that. And before you ask, I'm not going to blow you, either. You're hanging out the window and the police aren't going to be as forgiving as the school." Crowley laughed, and Castiel gave a twitch, and Dean wanted to die. His eyes found Benny's, but the other man's expression was unreadable. Like he was just listening and not judging.

Dean hated him for it.

"You don't have more Oxy for me?"

"Jesus, angel. No, I don't. The last thing you need is to OD in the ISS room."

Castiel sighed and reached his hand down, "Give me your pack of cigarettes."

"You don't have some on you?" Crowley asked.

"I didn't say that. I said I want yours."

Crowley sighed, defeated, and Dean could see Castiel pocket the pack as Crowley asked, "Is anyone even in there with you?"

"Yeah," Castiel didn't look back, but he leaned forward a little more, gesturing behind him. "That basketball guy is in here…"

"Basketball guy?"

Benny actually grinned, and Dean wondered how often someone in this school didn't know the other man's name, "My name is Benny."

"He says his name is Benny," Castiel repeated, turning to throw a smile in their direction. Benny held the smile and held the junkie's gaze, and Dean wanted to combust. "And Dean is in here as well."

"Dean? As in Dean Winchester?"

"Do you know another Dean?" Castiel asked, a little snippy.

Castiel's hips slid closer to the open window and he flailed, trying to gain purchase to keep him from slipping out. Crowley must have tugged him down, but Castiel latched on to the counter and gave a kick. It didn't matter, Crowley started begging.

"Get out. I don't care if you come out the window or if you just walk out the front, but you're not fucking staying in a locked room with him all day," He paused, and Castiel didn't jump down or start to move. From behind, Dean saw Castiel tilt his head at Crowley. "Castiel, get out here. I mean it… or you can find someplace else to sleep tonight. Back to sharing the futon on the floor curled up with your brother or in the park with the other junkies. I don't fucking care."

Castiel was still for a moment longer before he drew his legs back into the window and sat on his knees on the counter. Dean couldn't read his body language – the drug was starting to set in – but Dean could read Castiel's words loud and clear.

"Don't think for one second that you have any say in or control over anything I do, Anthony." He shut the window with enough force to make the other windows shake. He hopped off the counter and walked out of the room with his eyes glued to the floor, desperate not to make eye-contact with either of the other men.

Dean sighed when it was just the two of them and looked up at Benny. His head was still down, eyes wide in an amused sort of way, and Dean was trying to think of an explanation. Certainly that whole thing needed some back story, but when he opened his mouth, Benny just grinned, showing a row of perfect, white teeth, and he sat up.

"Oh, no, brother. Please don't tell me. I've got this crazy theory all worked up in my head, and it'd be a shame if you spoiled it with the easy reality," Benny tapped his notebook with his hand. "You're in my English class, and I don't get that book. Will you help me write the essay?"

Dean hated chemistry and algebra, but he was good at English. He'd been reading a lot more over the past few months, and he loved _In The Lake of the Woods_. So he just nodded and turned Benny's notebook around to see what he chose for a thesis.

* * *

The locker room had never been an awkward place for Sam Winchester. True, at the beginning of the year he was shorter and was lanky at best, but he could change pretty damn quickly and get into the gym before anyone could make fun of him.

It kind of got really awkward when he started dating Lucifer.

The blond boy was a senior, and he had a locker on the other side of the locker room. Before they started dating, Sam could catch glimpses of Lucifer picking on Castiel, but he always had his clothes on. He always tried to hide his scars in the past – Sam couldn't remember seeing him in a t-shirt ever before Thanksgiving when Sam saw the fresh wounds – but now he seemed to have lost his modesty. He would change into his shorts at the other end of the hallway, but walk to Sam with his shirt draped over his arms, trying to tie the drawstring on his shorts, waiting to tug his shirt over his head until Sam had gotten a good look at his chest.

It was like he was staking a claim or showing off.

Sometimes, Sam wouldn't even be done putting his shorts on, and Lucifer wouldn't even look at him below his hips. It was like he had no temptation, no rush to see his boyfriend in boxer shorts. He'd just sit on the bench, looking politely away, talking to Sam as he dressed, like it was no big deal his boyfriend was half-naked behind him. The worst was when Lucifer would tie his shoes really slow, bent over in front of Sam in just Under Armour shorts that were too freaking tight to begin with, and Sam would be sweating and saying the Pledge of Allegiance trying to keep himself okay to walk around in public.

But even that didn't compare to Lucifer today.

For once, Sam had his shorts and shoes on when Lucifer showed up at his set of lockers. There were twenty lockers in each set, but Sam was the only person in this set because it was the farthest from the door. He was completely shielded from everyone else, and to a small kid, that was important. He was just starting to pull his shirt on when Lucifer walked into the enclave. The blond boy had his shorts on and tied, his shoes were on, and he tossed his shirt on to the bench and had Sam pinned against the lockers in three steps.

Sam dropped his shirt, arms wrapping up and over Lucifer's shoulders, kissing him back as quietly as he could. It didn't last long – Sam was more focused on the feeling of Lucifer's bare chest against his own than the kiss – and when Lucifer drew back, he kept his hands on Sam's hips, fingers ghosting over the skin, and the flat lines of their stomach pressed together.

"Any word from Dean on if he bent Benny over a desk yet?"

"Please don't say _Dean_ and _bent over a desk_ when I can feel your hipbone against my stomach," Sam countered, tracing his fingers over Lucifer's ribs. The blond boy removed himself from Sam, which was sort of the opposite of what Sam actually wanted, but the younger boy just grabbed his phone and flipped it open, frowning at the messages from Dean.

 **Dean (8:15):** Cas has ISS here 2

 **Dean (9:01):** Crowley just showed 2 give Cas some drugs FML

 **Dean (9:03):** I want 2 die

 **Dean (9:15):** I didnt die. Doing work with this other dude in here. Benny. Kind of cool. And Cas isnt really bothering us. Sleeping now, actually. What r u doing? I forgot lunch will u bring me some during ur lunch period?

"Cas is in there," Sam frowned, even though he showed the messages to his boyfriend and the declaration wasn't necessary. "What the hell did he do to get in there?"

Sam slipped his phone into his shorts pocket – he usually left it in his locker, but he wanted to make sure he could text Dean back if he needed too – and they walked to the weight room. They walked toward the treadmills, even though two sophomore girls were using them, but the girls got off when the couple approached, offering to ride the bikes instead.

They started out walking, but a few minutes later, Lucifer checked his phone and paled.

"Crowley said Castiel got ISS for a few days for blowing him in the bathroom. Crowley got three days OSS because… well… they could have added an indecent exposure thing to him and he could have gotten arrested."

"Gross," Sam said, turning up the speed on the treadmill.

"Agreed," Lucifer matched pace. "So what're we gonna do?"

Sam started running as he thought about an answer. It was a tricky dilemma after all. The whole point of getting Dean and Benny together was to make Castiel jealous. But if Dean and Castiel were in a locked ward, then they could forgo Benny and try to get to the endgame without him.

When he looked over, he saw Lucifer was still matching his pace. He was running on his toes, heels almost never touching the treadmill, and his elbows were bent. He was watching the TV – half-naked girls dancing in a rap video – but he narrowed his eyes, like he was straining to see. His hair was getting longer – it flopped down over his forehead instead of sticking up like it used to – and Sam couldn't decide what look was better on him. He amended his question by wondering if anything didn't look good on his boyfriend.

"Hey, can you read that?"

The name of the song flashed across the bottom, and Sam told Lucifer the information. The blond boy nodded, and Sam smirked. "You need glasses."

"What?" Lucifer snapped. "No, I don't."

Sam grinned – glasses would definitely look good on Lucifer – but he let the topic drop. Commercials were on the screen now. A man dressed up like a king was holding a hamburger, and Sam jumped his feet to the sides of the treadmill. He caught his breath for a second and turned the speed back down. Lucifer did the same without question.

"I know what we should do about the Cas in ISS thing."

* * *

It didn't suck as bad as Dean thought, having Castiel in ISS with him all day. When he left, Dean expected that regardless of what he said to the dealer, he was cutting school to do his time sometime Dean _wasn't_ , but he came back a few minutes later, hair watered down and shaking a lot less. The Oxy had kicked in, and Castiel barely made it back to his chair before he passed out.

Benny's essay wasn't bad, and Dean gave him a few bits of actual advice before a man walked in – a math teacher – and the pair broke up to work on things quietly. The new monitor woke Castiel up, and from spare glances, he could see that Castiel had started to work on something. Whatever it was, he was flying through it.

The teacher left again at quarter-to-noon and Dean was getting hungry. His lunch wasn't until next period, but he couldn't leave the room to get any. Sam had texted him back saying he'd bring lunch. It was his period now, and Dean could only pray that Sam hadn't forgotten.

Behind him, Benny's stomach lurched. He laughed, like he was embarrassed his stomach growled so loud, and Dean could sympathize. He turned around to say something to the basketball player when the door opened, and Lucifer and Sam came walking in like they owned the place.

Castiel lifted his head from the table, tilting it to the side like he couldn't understand the intrusion.

"Lunch is served," Lucifer announced, dropping a Burger King bag on Benny's table. Benny was glaring at Lucifer, so Dean opened the bag, pulling out a Whopper Jr. and some fries. Sam sat the drinks down – three of them – and Benny did take a coke. "C'mon, Castiel. We got you food too."

Castiel shook his head. Lucifer gave him a decent impression of Sam's bitchface, and Castiel sighed. He walked over and pulled a chair up to the end of the table and sat down. Dean dug in the bag, noticed one was marked with no pickles, no tomatoes, and extra onions and slid that one to Castiel. He took it civilly, even nodding his thanks.

After Castiel had his fries, Dean pushed the bag to Benny. The trio took their first bites in silence.

"Wow, this is going to be a long couple of days if you're all silent," Sam commented, crossing his arms and glaring at Dean. The older Winchester pointedly looked at his food, refusing to meet his brother's eye.

"Did you cut class to get this?" He asked, taking a sip of coke.

"Yep. Well, I did. Sammy had a test," Lucifer smacked Dean's shoulder a little rougher than he intended. "Just English though, so no big. We gotta go eat now, though. Castiel?" The younger Novak looked up, blue eyes impossibly wide as a thank you for the food. Dean wondered if he had eaten at all in the past week. Drugs tended to supersede food in his hierarchy of basic human needs. "You better not be in here again. Certainly not for what you're in here for this time. Capisce?"

"Bene," Castiel agreed, eyes falling back to his food.

Sam offered Dean a smile and the pair was gone, leaving greasy food in their wake. It took almost no time for Benny to break the silence, turning to Castiel to ask, "What're you in for?"

Castiel sighed, taking a bite of hamburger in an attempt to keep the silence a little longer. Dean found himself looking, curious in a morbid sort of way, his heart clenching in his chest because he knew it wasn't going to be good. Castiel kept looking at his burger, and Dean almost didn't believe his ears when the boy whispered, "Fellatio."

To Benny's credit, he didn't laugh. Instead, he dropped a fry that was halfway to his mouth on his lap. He grabbed it quickly, shoving it in his mouth before turning to Castiel. "Seriously?"

"Yes. They caught us in the bathroom."

"Jesus Christ, Cas," Dean whispered dropping his burger back onto the wrapper like he was disgusted with it. He leaned back, crossing his arms, frowning.

Benny looked at Dean, like he couldn't understand that response, before his eyes found Castiel's. "Well, was it good? Well, at least worth it to be stuck in here for however long?"

Castiel shrugged, finishing his burger. "As good as it ever is to give, I suppose."

"Oh, Jesus," Benny whispered, suddenly looking at Castiel in a whole different way that made Dean squirm. He leaned forward, picking up his food to continue eating. He couldn't really tell what Benny was thinking, and he couldn't believe he was about to intervene and punch the dude if he said anything homophobic, but it never came. Benny just nodded and kept nodding, like he was working out the greatest mystery in life, before he pointed at Castiel's fries. "You gonna eat those?"

Castiel pushed the food away from himself – despite how hungry he must be – despite the fact he probably wasn't really done and he grabbed his drink, walking back over to the windowsill. He pulled himself back up, leaning back against the wall, and opening the window once more.

He was quiet, for the most part, while Benny switched his focus back to Dean. The pair finished eating and threw everything away. Then, the basketball player turned into a gossip who suddenly wanted to know everything about the pair of other boys in the room. And he was willing to offer up information about himself as incentive.

"I keep a book," Benny was tipping back in his chair, nodding his head toward his bag. "Hard to find boys in Kansas but in my experience, the only thing that is keeping a straight boy from turning gay is that they haven't met me yet."

Castiel blew smoke out the window, his eyes finding Benny's form inside the room. Benny's had been grinning at Dean, but he spared Castiel a glance and a wink before turning back to Dean. "And I hear that you're the straight version of me, Winchester. How many girls have you been with?"

Castiel snorted but otherwise didn't say anything. Dean took a sharp breath in, suddenly sure he knew where this conversation was headed. He could appreciate Benny – he was athletic, smart, had a voice Dean liked to listen too – but he never figured himself as the type of guy who'd go for other guys. Well, who weren't Castiel.

Dean's fingers drummed over the table, glancing at his ex-boyfriend out of the corner of his eye. He was taking a drag in again, his eyes meeting Dean's with something akin to a smile in them. It was like a challenge or a dare. _Do it or I will._

Benny didn't wait for Dean to say anything, instead, he leaned forward, resting his head in his arms again. He was submitting, Dean somehow knew, making himself seem like the smaller man. It was kind of funny, since Benny was being the predator and all.

"C'mon, can you count all the notches in your belt?" Benny asked in singsong.

"I'd rather not," Dean said, knowing what to say because of Sam and Lucifer and their taste in crappy music. Dean ran a hand through his hair to smooth it back. "Let's just say I'm not starving myself."

Benny grinned, chin rolling on his arms so he was looking over at Castiel. The junkie flicked his cigarette butt out the window, blowing a trail of smoke after it before he turned back to the conversation. "What about you, little angel? How many guys have you been with?"

"Two," Castiel was already twitching to get the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He fumbled with it, fingers shaking as he pulled one from the pack.

Benny continued the bridge of the song, asking Castiel to let him be number three: "Baby, put your name down on a sheet of paper."

Chances are, the look shared between Dean and Castiel wasn't lost on Benny. In fact, if the raise of eyebrows was anything to go by, Benny not only saw it, but had deciphered the hidden meaning and was filing it away to use it against them.

Instead of answering, Castiel said, "I don't need no savior, baby. I just want to have a good time."

Benny started laughing, perhaps taking it for a joke, but Dean felt something grip in his chest. He looked down at the papers in front of him. He had tried to be Castiel's savior and look where that got him. Benny hummed a little more, then looked from Castiel to Dean and said, "I like the two'a you. Even if you two hate each other's guts. We three could do a lot together."

Dean noticed that Castiel hadn't pulled a cigarette from the pack, but a joint. He spread his knees and leaned back, lighting it with a breath and blowing out the window.

* * *

The next two days were more of the same, the biggest difference being Castiel's increase in drugs. Without a doubt he came in with heroin coursing through his veins, and around lunch he started taking pills. Dean was upset by the intake – Castiel was taking even more than he was after the Florida trip – and Dean was starting to see the cracks. John was right. Castiel was killing himself.

And there was nothing Dean could do about it. You can't help someone who doesn't want to help themselves.

They would be quiet and do work while a teacher was monitoring them, turning their free-time to talk. Benny would switch on the head of a pin – voice low as he whispered to Dean, his breath against the boy's freckled cheek – before he'd yell across the room, using more direct methods on Castiel. Benny talked about his exploits, forcing Dean to talk about his and worse, forcing Castiel to talk about his.

Their game of Never Had I Ever turned too personal and serious when Benny declared that he'd never cheated. At the word, Castiel drew his knees to his chest and dropped his head to his knees, shoulders shaking. Benny didn't press, and Castiel wouldn't look at either of them for over an hour after that.

Benny was interested in Dean's numbers, but he was more interested in Castiel's experiences. Crowley was obvious, but Benny was nearly begging Castiel to name the other boy he'd been with, and Castiel wasn't talking. Which Dean was grateful for, but it hurt. It was like Castiel thought that their time wasn't worth mentioning – that he didn't even want to talk about it – but he tried to be realistic.

He was probably trying not to out Dean.

In the end, Castiel lasted his three days. Friday afternoon when the bell rang, Castiel ran out of the ISS room, probably to run right to Crowley, right into his arms, but Dean couldn't think about that. He packed his bag slowly and noticed that Benny was waiting for him by the door, his head tossed over his shoulder. He wasn't looking expectant or anything, just easy, like he appreciated the easy friendship the pair of them formed over their three days stuck together.

"It was me," Dean said, surprising himself.

"What?" Benny asked.

"The other person he was with. It was me. He cheated on me."

"I know," Benny said simply, nodding his head to the door. "It was all over your faces. I figured if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me."

"Or you'd badger it out of him?"

Benny grinned, "He wouldn't give you up for anything, except maybe drugs. He loves you like whoa. It was borderline painful to live with the two'a you for three days. I'm not used to sexual tension not being mine. Thank God Lucifer Novak made me pull that alarm or the two of you would have combusted. Or maybe you'da fucked it out."

"Lucifer made you?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. I've been hounding on him to sleep with me since September, but he hasn't broke. Said something stupid about how he likes guys who do stupid shit like that and I did it. Thinking with our dick's the curse of our sex, isn't it?" Benny laughed, shrugging. "Word on the street he's got a boyfriend though." He raised his eyebrows at Dean like he was baiting him.

Dean shrugged, "He's at my house literally all the time and I've never heard him mention a boyfriend." Benny just laughed, a real beautiful thing that seemed so carefree and genuine Dean felt his stomach slam around against his other organs. "Hey, speaking of which, we're having a few friends over tonight if you want to stop by. It'll just be me, my brother, and two of the better Novaks."

"Yeah," Benny said. "Sure. I'll see you there tonight."

As the other boy left the ISS room, Dean's stomach was settling down a little bit. Until he realized he just inadvertently asked Benny on a date. Sort of. Then he felt sick again.

* * *

Lucifer and Sam seemed to think Dean was blowing the Benny thing way out of proportion. It's not like Friday night was date night or anything. It was just Lucifer and Sam and Dean and Gabriel night. A bro night.

Except for the fact that Lucifer and Sam were dating, and despite the fact that John knew, Dean didn't. Also, Gabriel was bringing Kali over tonight. Dean would have been the fifth wheel, but he asked Benny. So while Lucifer and Sam _said_ that Dean was blowing the Benny thing way out of proportion, he actually wasn't.

Not that they'd tell him that.

And not that Benny even acted like it could be a date. He was wearing the same thing he wore to school – jeans, a black jacket, the hat – and looked completely easy among the small Winchester-Novak family. He wasn't hitting on Lucifer (or Dean, for that matter), and he wasn't scared of Kali. He fit in well, with one minor little hiccup.

"I don't drink," Benny answered, when Dean asked him what his poison was.

If a record player had been set up, the record would have screeched off the track into silence. So for Sam's iPod to keep playing over the docking station was a little awkward and ineffective to the brevity of the situation. They were all drinking – Kali and Sam included – but Benny felt no pressure to join in. Even when he was berated with questions, he just shrugged.

"We're going to states this year. If I'm caught drinking, I'd be kicked off the team and I'd lose my scholarship to KU. Not worth it, sorry guys."

"So, you don't… you don't drink or do drugs or smoke or anything?" Dean asked, already pushing past the legal limit.

"Nope. But I'd be happy to drink a virgin Coke."

"I could kiss you," Dean exclaimed, making a move to throw his arms around his _not date_ , but Gabriel interceded and Dean ended up with two arms full of short Novak pushing at his chest.

"I think I'll just take the Coke, brother," Benny winked, offering a laugh as he left the room to grab his poison.

But other than that one hiccup, the night went pretty well.

The interesting thing with the family of four-turned-six was their differences. On a good topic, two of them might agree. Most of the other topics left them tight and fighting, the alcohol a catalyst for their fights with Benny the Sober as a moderator. Music was torture to agree upon when it was Sam and Dean alone, and throwing Kali and Gabriel into the mix made it a game of foursquare with punches instead of a ball.

There wasn't one song where everyone was happy, but the fighting was comfortable. Among family. And after a Zep song, they'd listen to Taylor Swift, followed by Marilyn Manson, with an encore of Band of Horses. It was a hodgepodge. It was rough. But it was them.

It was late into the night – past the point of fighting – when Gabriel turned up a song that Dean had heard before but didn't know. The Novaks and Sam started singing, and Dean was mostly blown away by how good they sounded. Lucifer got out his phone, he pushed it at Kali and she started recording the act.

" _Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for,"_ they sang, and Dean's eyes fell on his younger friend. Gabriel, who wanted his brothers to stop fighting. Gabriel, who wanted to love someone more than he would ever let on. And even if this was the type of song Dean would complain though, he held his tongue for Gabriel.

Benny started singing backup without liquid courage, leaning back against the couch to put his feet up on the coffee table next to Dean. Their shoulder's touched, and when Dean looked over, Benny's blue eyes were bright – there wasn't the fog of the alcohol or the drugs that tainted Castiel's pretty eyes – and he was smiling. Easy and happy.

Dean never thought life would ever be this easy or happy again.

So he started hitting his foot against the table, keeping the drumbeat. The singing boys looked happy – even Kali grinned behind the phone – and he kept at it, messing it up when it slowed down, of course, and that got a big round of laughs. At the end of the song, Gabriel was sliding up the couch next to Kali, Sam had his arm resting on the coffee table and Lucifer was tracing over the star with determination, and if he was completely serious, Benny sighed into his can and leaned just a little bit heavier on Dean.

It seemed so close to perfect. So freaking close. But when Dean opened his eyes, turning to share his domestic bliss, it was the wrong shade of blue looking up at him. A black hat stood in for black hair. And when Benny stood to leave not long after that, Dean paused with his arm resting against the jamb, watching as the black coat walked into the darkness, disappearing much more quickly than a tan trench coat would have.

When he dumped out the rest of his beer and said good night, nobody asked. But within seconds of hitting the hay, Dean noticed the silence from down stairs. And he did feel a little guilty he ended their party.

But mostly, he just missed Castiel.

* * *

Sam and Lucifer went to Sam's room within ten minutes, leaving Gabriel and Kali with a bunch of blankets and pillows. Kali started making up the larger couch for herself – Gabriel had insisted – while the boy sat on the loveseat, leaning back with his head rested against the back, eyes closed and palms on his knees, open like he was in prayer.

Except his lips were moving to the lyrics playing quietly over the docking station.

" _Every morning there were planes: the shiny blades of pagan angels in our Father's skies. Every evening I would watch her hold the pillow tight against her hollows, her unholy child…"_

She reached out, putting her hand in his. He jumped, clenching around her hand, eyes shooting open. They were wet, and she turned their hands over so she could rub circles on the back of his wrist.

"What do you think about, Gabriel?" She inflected the last syllable, saying his name how it was meant to be said. Emphasis on the _el_ , emphasis on God. Gabriel held his breath, heart pounding in his chest, searching her eyes for any clue that she knew he liked his name said that way. He didn't find any.

"I think about my brothers," his hand still gripped hers. "I know that the planes are the shiny blades of pagan angels, but I think of Castiel and his needles, or Lucifer and the knives he used to cut himself. We are named for angels, Kali, but that is too much pressure. Look at how we've broken. Michael is crazy, Lucifer hates himself, Castiel's drowning it in drugs, and Balthazar…"

She knew that Balthazar was a touchy subject. Gabriel felt especially abandoned by his older brother. Not that he would say it. He rarely talked about his family.

"You are more pagan than any other angel," she whispered, her other hand rising to cup his face. To a Christian, it should be an insult. But from Kali… Gabriel reached up to wrap his arm around her neck, sitting up to pull her awkwardly toward him. Kali held him to her chest and kissed the top of his head. She was older than him, wiser, and she had the answers that his father lacked. And though he couldn't be sure of it – Kali wouldn't know the words to an Iron & Wine song, would she? – he could have sworn he heard her whispering the words into his hair.

" _Like a snake within the wilted garden wall, I'd hint to her every possibility. While with his gun, the pagan angel rose to say, 'My love is one made to break every bended knee.'"_

* * *

Sam wasn't stupid. Sure he was drunk – too drunk to make this kind of decision – but his fingers fell too comfortably in Lucifer's. They fit together so perfectly – so completely – and Sam couldn't stop himself as he stripped himself to his underwear. Lucifer frowned for a moment, then tugged his shirt off.

Sam put on shorts. Lucifer did too.

Sam's thighs hit his bedframe, even though he and Lucifer were feet from touching each other, and he let himself fall. He scooted himself back against the wall, and Lucifer was looking at him with all these emotions swimming in his drunken eyes.

He was afraid, but trusting.

And Sam beckoned him forward.

Lucifer went.

"We don't even have to cuddle," Sam was whispering. "It'll be hard in the small bed, but we don't have to touch. Just sleep."

"I know," Lucifer whispered back, sliding back the covers and feeling Sam's heat – his bare chest – just sitting there, inches from his own. He forced himself to make eye contact, and Sam smoothed back his hair.

"Although, if you wanted to, I'm sure nothing bad would happen."

"Sam…"

"We'll be okay," Sam didn't smile. He offered an honest look, one of love and trust, and added, "you won't do anything you think is bad to me."

"I don't trust myself," Lucifer admitted to the pillow. He felt Sam's hand on his stomach, then on his hip, pushing him away. Lucifer turned and faced away from Sam, toward the door. A moment later, Sam's arm wrapped over his stomach and pulled, strong enough to pull Lucifer back the few inches so his back was flush against Sam's chest. The contact burned him, just like he knew his skin would be cold for Sam.

But he didn't say anything about that. He just said, "You can't do anything to me from here."

Lucifer conceded with a small sigh and a giant smile, placing his hand over Sam's to drag it up his chest. They ended with Sam's palm pressed against Lucifer's heart, and Lucifer cuddling Sam's arm like a teddy bear.

"As long as you promise not to do anything in the night," Lucifer whispered, trying for a joke but coming off too seriously.

Sam pressed his lips to the back of Lucifer's neck. "I promise."

It didn't take long for sleep to overcome them.

* * *

March was probably giving away to April, but Castiel didn't know the date exactly. It could have been July for all he knew, but the mass of people around him in the halls led him to believe it was otherwise. Not this many people would be here if school was over for the summer.

Sometime soon (or in the very recent past), it would be one month since he started fucking Crowley again. It would be an anniversary if Castiel cared. Mostly, he didn't feel anything.

He was taking more drugs now than he ever was – he had to use heroin twice times a day just to keep the withdrawal at bay, more if he wanted to actually enjoy it – and it scared him when he realized he had switched from using for fun for using to keep homeostasis. He needed it, now. He needed it to live and he wasn't sure if he wanted to live with the blackouts and emptiness anymore.

He would wake up in the library, a book flipped to the middle but when he'd check the title, he couldn't remember anything about it. He'd start over from the beginning, but only make it fifty pages in until he was incapacitated by the withdrawal. Crowley would find him in the bathroom, still retching even though the contents of his stomach had long since been flushed away, and Crowley would give him a balloon.

He'd wake up in the art room, and Castiel didn't even have an art class, but the last time the teacher tried to remove him, he'd gotten violent. He didn't remember the detention he served half a week ago for it. He didn't recognize the face of the monster in his drawing.

He would wake up mid-conversation with Lucifer, and he could see the look in his brother's eyes when he realized that Castiel hadn't been present before. He would wake up in the middle of kissing Crowley and realize that the other boy hadn't snapped out of it yet. Sex was just something they did together to pass the time.

There's a point in every addict's life when they think about how much it would take to die. And Castiel wasn't far from that point.

So when Castiel woke up in the middle of the hallway, being pushed aside by bigger boys who were just trying to make it to class on time, he wasn't sure if it was the end of March or the beginning of April. He wasn't sure what time it was – so he wasn't sure where he was supposed to be going – and he didn't know where Crowley would be. Or where Lucifer would be. Or Dean.

He put his hands in his pocket, feeling the balloon full of heroin. He pushed the pad of his thumb into the casing, feeling the way the powder moved like sand with the pressure. He searched his coat, finding a needle. He had a candle and a spoon in his locker. He had everything he needed to shoot up and fall asleep again. Go through another few weeks without knowing the days, without remembering.

He didn't have enough on him to overdose right now, but he could get a start at it.

Instead, he reached out, fingers catching the sleeve of a boy walking by. He was smaller than Castiel, probably a freshman, and the boy looked up with fear in his eyes. Castiel wondered what he must look like – how skinny he must be; he rubbed his hand over his face and realized he needed to shave – and it was no wonder that the boy was afraid.

"What period are we going to right now?" he asked.

The boy squeaked out, "Fourth," before ripping his arm from Castiel's hand and hurrying away.

There was nothing to live for. The drugs didn't work anymore. They weren't fun or freeing anymore. They were killing him too slowly.

Castiel walked to his fourth period class – English – and he'd already made his decision. This would be his last night. He'd go out to Lucifer's club and enjoy it as much as he could.

Castiel would not wake up tomorrow.

* * *

It was March 29th, the last Friday in the month, when the fight broke out at Lucifer's club.

Basketball season was over, but baseball tryouts were next week, so Benny was still not drinking. He'd been bugging Sam about joining – the kid was fast and he'd be a great pinch runner – and he seemed interested, too. Benny expected that this was Sam's last hurrah before he gave up the alcohol for the sport. It wouldn't be hard for the younger Winchester. He only drank because everyone else did.

Benny still came to the club with the Winchesters, the Novaks, and Kali. The club, Benny learned pretty quickly, was a place of tension. Dean was following in his daddy's footsteps, and he liked to drink more nights of the week than he didn't, and his alcohol was always free in the club.

Castiel was behind the bar, but he wasn't really there. He was rough in ISS, but it didn't compare to him here. His pupils were shot wide, and he was twitching with the bass. If Dean was anything to go by, Castiel was chock full of heroin and cocaine, enough alcohol to drown a small mammal, and any number of other pills. He certainly looked it. The only thing that he was missing in his attempt to play the role of the tweaking raver was the pacifier.

He didn't go to the six of them when they sat down at the bar, but that was mostly because he had Crowley pinned to the back counter, his shirt halfway open and Castiel was sucking on his collarbone like he could actually taste something he couldn't get enough of. Lucifer yelled over to them, and that was surprisingly enough to break them up. Castiel's grin was wide when his eyes found his brother, and he left Crowley abandoned at the counter like he'd already forgotten the assault on his skin.

"What're you having?" Castiel asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the bar.

Benny knew it upset Dean to see Castiel all over Crowley, but it didn't have the same effect on him. Castiel didn't have the regular markings of a slut – he channeled his sexuality through the drugs – but for Crowley it was different. Crowley fed off Castiel. He was still panting in the back, eyes half-opened and focused on the spread of Castiel's shoulders, and he would die for it.

And Benny knew the look; he saw it on plenty of others right before he gave them what they wanted from him.

And to see Crowley, who had once tried to beat Benny to death for making a pass on him, begging for it like that, made Benny heavy with how much he wanted Castiel. He wanted to know what was so great about him that kept Dean in a perpetual state of drunken anguish. He wanted to know what was so great about him that made Crowley jump off into hard drugs and men. And he wanted to know now.

So maybe Benny was a shitty friend. But he'd fuck Dean too if he was given half a chance. But Dean belonged to Castiel and Benny would gladly go through Castiel to get Dean. Or vise-versa. He really wasn't picky. His only real loyalties anymore – since he moved back to the states – had been to his dick.

Castiel didn't say anything about Benny's lack of alcohol, but he winked when he uncapped a bottle of Root Beer and pressed it into Benny's hand.

It didn't take long for the night to turn interesting. Shots were had, and Kali was laughing, pulling Sam away to dance. Gabriel watched with this look of half-bliss and half-desperation that would have been strange if Benny wasn't sure that Gabriel was harboring a serious crush on both of them. Benny was just really good at reading people.

It didn't take long for Lucifer to go find his boyfriend – he grew cold and silent whenever they were apart – and watching the three of them dancing on the floor grew too much for Gabriel. Once Dean was sufficiently wasted, Gabriel was dragging him along to the floor. Dean couldn't dance worth a damn, but the others didn't pick on him. They just accepted him for his faults and kept the liquor coming.

Benny might have been alone at the bar for thirty seconds when the song switched and the hum of the dance floor grew to vibrations. Everyone seemed to be a color, painted by the lights swaying over the floor from the ceiling. He wasn't sure how Dean couldn't know about his brother and the club's owner. Lucifer had his hands on Sam's hips, Sam's were splayed across the older boy's chest, and they were singing the words at each other, probably at the top of their lungs. Dean was dancing with Kali; Gabriel was completely content to dance with himself.

When Benny turned around, he got a face full of black hair and blue eyes. A hand snaked around his wrist, deceptively tight despite the man's small frame, and the next thing Benny knew, he was being dragged away from the bar.

They were in the VIP section, which really consisted of some ropes to keep everyone else out and some couches, and Benny was surprised when Castiel tugged and Benny ended up sitting on the couch. A breath later, he had a lap full of Castiel.

The addict's knees were pressed against the back of the couch, thighs pressing down against Benny's, and his hands found his shoulders, keeping Benny pinned there. He couldn't really hear what Castiel was saying, but he could read that his lips were mouthing out the words of the song.

" _Oh, what a shame that you came here with someone. But while you're here in my arms, let's make the most of the night like we're gonna die young."_

Castiel's lips were chapped, his hands soft as he worked the white shirt out of Benny's pants and started running his hands over the boy's bare stomach. It took seconds for Castiel to abandon that, fumbling with the buttons on the dress shirt instead. They broke apart for half a breath, but the fingers of Benny's left hand gripped Castiel's hips and drew them closer together, while his other hand gripped the back of his neck and drew their mouths together again.

They fought for dominance. Castiel had the physical upper-hand because of their position, but Benny didn't go down without a fight. Castiel broke for a breath, tilting his head back as Benny started working his way down his neck, biting with enough force to bruise, and Castiel let out this sound of pain and desire and started fighting back with a vengeance, fingers shaking as he tried to undo Benny's belt as quickly as possible.

Castiel had a hand down the front of Benny's pants when he was gripped by the bicep and tugged off Benny like he weighed nothing. He landed on the floor without a sound, just a confused look, and it was all Benny saw before he felt the punch.

His hand went to his face after the first punch, ducking his head and blocking the blows. His lip was split – his attacker wasn't an experienced fighter and hadn't gone for the nose – but he only got a few insignificant punches in before he was being pulled off Benny too. Benny fumbled with buttoning his pants and fixing his belt before he looked up. Dean was on top of Crowley, punching with rage that wasn't really warranted. He wasn't fighting Crowley to defend Benny. He was beating Crowley for what he did to Castiel.

Lucifer and Sam were there, pulling Dean away but the guy was a snarling wreck, trying to leap at Crowley, and the British boy looked pretty rough. He didn't look like he could feel much of it with whatever he'd taken, but he'd at least have a black eye tomorrow. Crowley licked his lips and must have tasted blood. He reached a hand out to touch the blood flowing from his nose like he'd never had a bloody nose before.

Benny stood and took over for Sam. He and Lucifer started dragging Dean away when Benny heard something. He turned and looked back at Castiel. His feet were stretched out, and he was leaning back on his hands. He made no attempt to go to help Crowley, who stood and started walking to the back where he could examine himself in his office. Castiel didn't look like had been hurt in his fall, but his head was tossed back, exposing his throat and the black mark on his neck was already forming in the shape of Benny's teeth. He was laughing so hard that tears came out of his eyes.

* * *

In the end, Castiel couldn't kill himself that night. When Crowley came back from seeing the shape he was in, he was more pissed at Castiel than he was before and his arguments of _why the fuck would you pick Benny_ turned into _why the fuck didn't you help me_.

Because deep down, Crowley knew why Castiel went for Benny.

He was attractive, he was willing, and he was Dean's friend. A shot at Benny was a shot at Dean. Castiel could have made a move on anyone else – in fact, Crowley liked to watch Castiel make moves on other men – but not Benny. And it was because of Dean.

Nothing pissed Crowley off more than when Castiel did anything based on Dean. It didn't matter if it would end up hurting Dean or not, if Dean was a factor, Crowley got pissed. So when they walked to Crowley's house in the middle of a one-sided screaming match, Crowley put his hand on the front door and pointed away.

"You can go fucking sleep in the park tonight and die of frostbite."

And when Crowley left Castiel standing on his porch, he thought about how long it would take him to freeze to death. Since he couldn't overdose on Crowley's drugs, hypothermia sounded promising, but instead, Castiel's feet carried him to his brother's Church.

He could just kill himself tomorrow night. There wasn't really a rush.

Castiel didn't knock; he just walked in and down the stairs. Lucifer's bedroom door was open, and he was alone. Benny and Sam must have gotten Dean home, and Castiel was glad to have a moment with his brother before his death. He remembered a time not too long ago when it was Castiel on watching for the suicide signs, cuddling up to Lucifer and telling him everything would be okay.

They didn't know what he was planning, and it was better that way. It had been a month or more since Castiel and Lucifer hung out like they used to – when Castiel was trying to save his brother instead of destroy himself – and one of the biggest regrets he had with this whole relapse stint was that he lost Lucifer with Dean. He missed how close they used to be.

But they were different now. Lucifer was better and Castiel was the one falling apart.

Castiel leaned against the jamb of the door, watching as Lucifer dipped his hands in black paint and smeared it across the wall. His hands moved in an arch, dribbles of the paint running down from the line until it ran out somewhere before the floor. It looked like a skeleton of bird wings, stretching out across the wall with a gap in the center.

He plunged his hands into the paint, filling in the bones with feathers and more dribbles. Castiel noticed a choked sob from inside the room and half a minute later, Lucifer was shaking and he was pressing his forehead against an unpainted patch of wall, fist slamming into one of the wings hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to break the drywall.

His shoulders shook with sobs.

"Lucifer?" Castiel asked, stepping inside.

Lucifer turned, frowning into the doorway. He reached to wipe his eyes, but his black hands paused before his face. He let out another sob, reaching out to Castiel.

"I can't do this alone anymore," he called out. "I can't take care of both Winchesters and Gabe and myself. I can't do this without you and you keep leaving me. And if that isn't enough, you insist on making more trouble for me to deal with."

Castiel didn't care that Lucifer was wrapping his paint-covered hands around his back, pressing them into the shirt he was wearing. His stuff was just borrowed from Crowley. It didn't matter anyway.

"Why did you have to do that with Benny, Castiel? Can't you see what we're trying to do for you? Can't you just stop? You're killing yourself, and you're killing Dean, and it isn't fair." Lucifer was hunched over, his face in Castiel's shoulder, his anger giving away to exhaustion. "I miss you."

Castiel was going to need to take something soon – there was a headache starting behind his eyes and his legs were starting to throb in pain – and he knew he had half a balloon in his pocket. It wouldn't take him long to find everything he would need to take a shot. If nothing else, he could find some tinfoil and smoke it.

But Castiel wrapped his arm around his brother, twisting his fingers in his shirt and whispered, "I miss you too."

The younger boy could feel his fingers digging into his skin. "I know you can't get clean for me. I don't even want you to – you'll never be okay unless you can do it for yourself. Not for me, not for Dean, and I can't make you do anything, but still… can you… can you just stay with me? Don't leave me again. I need you."

Castiel nodded, forgoing the drugs to get his brother off of him. He went with Lucifer to wash his hands, trying to clean out his shirt. He emptied his pockets, his butterfly knife, a needle, some drugs, a lighter, and a pack of cigarettes sat in the corner of the bedroom next to his cell phone. Lucifer laid on his mattress, and Castiel walked upstairs to ring out his shirt and hang it up.

Lucifer drew his knees to his chest, trying to keep his focus on what he could see and feel. He could put on a brave face and fake it for the Winchesters – especially Sam – but the hallucinations were getting worse. He kept finding himself pushing his thumb into scissors, but not remembering how he got them in his hand. He was losing this fight. And for once in his life, he was afraid to act on the urge and be successful.

Lucifer didn't want to die.

Something moved in the corner, and he found his attention drawn to the mirror in the corner of the room.

The Lucifer in the mirror was waving to get his attention. He was mouthing something, pointing at Castiel's stuff in the corner. It wasn't until his reflection's hand movements changed, pantomiming the way the spy opened the butterfly knife in that game Balthazar loved, that Lucifer understand what his reflection was saying.

His reflection held out his arm, pantomiming dragging the knife up his vein. He grinned, and pointed to the corner again.

When Castiel got downstairs, he offered a smile, and it didn't take too long for them to fall asleep, their backs pressed against each other, seeking comfort.

And the next morning when Castiel was packing his stuff back in his pockets, he didn't say anything about his missing balisong. He didn't look under the mattress, so he never found where Lucifer hid it.

* * *

Crowley was forgiving. Sunday found Castiel lying on Crowley's couch, head rested in Crowley's lap with the British boy's fingers in his hair. He didn't scratch at all, even if he found an open sore; he just petted him through the tremors.

Castiel still wore Benny's bruise like a trophy or a reminder to Crowley that Castiel didn't belong to him. The blue-eyed boy went out of his way to wear shirts that were too big on the collar, so there was no way the mark was hidden.

Dean had broken Crowley's nose and managed to hurt the boy's shoulder bad enough to warrant a prescription for Vicodin, which was currently sitting easy in his stomach. He kept them out on the table; he didn't have to worry about Castiel taking them. The scar on Castiel's clavicle was a constant reminder to Crowley that bad trips could be terrifying, even if he hadn't ever had one.

He hadn't been a hard-core drug user for long, after all.

The high life wasn't cutting it for Castiel anymore. He had lost everything because of the drugs – his brother, his friend, his boyfriend – and if he ever wanted to live, he was going to need to break the habit.

But he remembered the pain, and it was easier said than done.

He could get a few hours into the withdrawal before he broke. Crowley was offering to sit with him, rock him, even rub his back when he threw up, but it never lasted long. Crowley didn't have Dean's tough love, and the British teen would break too easily, pushing drugs at Castiel to ease his pain.

There was always a point when it was too much and he'd accept.

It was early on in the withdrawal process right now, tremors were a precursor to vomit, and tears were filling Castiel's eyes, knowing what was coming.

"You should do it with me," Castiel whispered.

"Do what?"

"Get clean. Stop the Oxys and the coke and we could lean on each other. We could help each other," Castiel turned around, lying on his back, trying to look through the fog of tears at the boy above him.

Crowley nodded. Castiel could see Crowley's hope – his eyes lit up like fireworks – and Castiel knew how badly Crowley wanted him like Dean once had him. Sober and in love, not the fake romance they had right now. "Anything, angel." And Castiel believed Crowley would do anything for him.

But it was harder than that. They broke each other. If they went too long without a fix, they'd get violent. Castiel would snap and Crowley would have another black eye or a broken finger. Crowley would snap and Castiel would have bruises the size of a palm on his hips and wrists and throat.

Then they would fall together on the bed, drugs pumping through their veins. And they could be so tender with their touches and kisses, just so long as they had help.

For a week they were each other's crutch. But they were not really a crutch at all, but a toothpick. The second one of them tried to lean on the other, they would break and fall down together. They actually had a good run going for a while. They were going on their third day drug free, both passed out in the bathroom when it happened.

Castiel woke up to someone shaking his shoulder. His eyes were swimming like he'd had too much to drink, but really, he was just too sober. He found Crowley in shorts and a t-shirt in the bathtub, pillow pressed against the drain, eyebrows knotted together as he breathed unevenly. Castiel rolled onto his back, eyes snapping open wide when he saw who was shaking him.

"They're coming, baby. You need to wake up," his mother said. She looked different – her white dress was torn and black and bloody, her red hair pinned back against her head – and she looked like a warrior. She was muddy and angry and righteous and she grabbed Castiel's bicep and pulled him off the floor. He tottered uneasily on his feet, but she barely let him stand before she was pushing him through the door.

"Who's coming?"

"The angels are coming, Castiel. They're angry that you didn't listen – that you didn't even try to find your father – so they're coming to punish you," Castiel was barefoot, and he hit the cool hardwood with a hiss, stumbling toward the stairs, trying to stay far enough ahead of his mother that she wouldn't resort to pushing him. It didn't work. As he stomped down the stairs, she pushed between his shoulder blades at the last landing and he hit the floor hard, his wrists absorbing the impact of his torso and head. His knees were scraped, and when he sat up, he could feel the dull throbbing of a bruise starting on the heel of his hand, his wrists protesting every second he put his weight on them, trying to regain his footing and stand up.

His mother grabbed him by the back of his shirt, choking him as she tugged him to his feet once more. "Didn't you hear me, boy?" She snarled. A thought formed in his head that this wasn't his mother – his mother would never treat him like this – that it was just a delusion, and he could fight it and ignore it, but she smacked him hard enough to leave a red mark. Even if this wasn't really his mother, something must really be here. He wasn't quite so sure he could fight it after that.

But he was sure if he got a quick high, she would leave. It didn't take long to find Crowley's prescription bottle. He left Oxy around everywhere because his name on the bottle, and Castiel didn't waste any time popping two of them in his mouth, shoving them so far back he only needed to swallow and they went without water. He turned to face the shadow of his mother, waiting for her to disappear.

She just got angry.

"You are useless," she hissed, poking his chest. "You are good for nothing sober and you're good for nothing stoned. You can't function as a human being either way. You're a disgrace to me and your father and your brothers. You never deserved the Winchesters."

"Well, you got what you wanted, mother," Castiel hissed back, trying to knock away her hand, but only seemed to ever hit the air. "It's been two months that I've been without Dean. So he can go and have a happy life with happy kids and fuck if I'll ever bother them again."

"You misunderstand," she was tender now, stroking his arm with soft fingers, morphing from a rage monster to one filled with pity. Castiel felt something lurch in his stomach, and he doubled over, hands hitting the floor again as he fought the nausea. "They're going to punish you by killing the Winchesters."

Castiel couldn't speak. He reached for the bottle of pills, already knowing his mistake. The bottle wasn't filled with Oxy, it was filled with Vicodin.

"Dean and Sam and John are going to die, son," she was on her knees in front of him, patting his hair. "And it's all your fault."

This part was exceptionally hard for Castiel to remember later on. He only had glimpses and scars that helped him fill in the blanks. He had a brief memory of walking in a sweat-matted t-shirt and shorts, barefoot and walking through the puddles of water that was just below fifty degrees. It wouldn't freeze – it was too warm for that – but it was still cold to the touch. The mud caked to his feet, he could remember trying to wipe them off on the matt before turning the knob. The Winchester house was locked. Nobody was home.

Castiel dug in his shorts pockets. He didn't have anything on him but a hand full of dollars and his license, and he took the plastic card and fed it through the slot in the door. He fumbled for ten seconds, but once the card was between the lock and the jamb, he could open the door like it wasn't even locked. He searched the downstairs for something to use as a weapon and picked up a box-cutter that John had been using to cut plastic strips and he pushed his thumb on the release, pushing the blade out of its protective sheath.

He took the steps hesitantly, the Vicodin in his stomach forcing him forward rather than up his throat. Castiel was a man possessed, his heart drumming loudly in his ears, drug-laced blood rushing through his body. He imagined a choir of wrathful angels about to smite a handful of people – the only people that he cared about – and he reached the top of the landing, expecting them to be lying in wait.

His world narrowed to his primary directive _saving the Winchesters_ and when he cased the top floor and realized the angels hadn't come yet, he walked into the upstairs bathroom, pausing only to tug off his shirt before he stepped into the shower. Castiel sat, his back hitting the cool porcelain. He stretched his bare feet as far as they could go, pressing them flat against the white surface.

"They can't have the Winchesters. Let them take me and be done with it." He let his left arm fall open against his knee, bringing the blade to his wrist. He hesitated, remembering the way the blood pooled around his brother. Hopefully the bathtub would be easy clean up for the Winchesters. He would hate to inconvenience them. Castiel turned his head to his side, the woman was sitting on the sink watching him. "Will it hurt, mother?

"You are not enough, Castiel. You were given a task and you failed. You have wasted everyone's time and your own life. There is nothing you can do to spare the Winchesters."

Castiel shifted, pulling his feet back to him when he saw the blood. It wasn't a lot – he must have stepped on something on his way over – but he was suddenly overcome with the image of the sigil that Lucifer created to keep the angels back. How he drew it in his blood the night he tried to kill himself.

Maybe Castiel's life wasn't enough, but he would be happy to bleed for the Winchesters, especially if it saved their lives.

He started carving.

He didn't scream – at least he didn't think so – but the terrified sound that came from his mother could have originated within him. He couldn't really feel the bite of the blade digging into his flesh, but he felt the skin split apart like a relieved sigh or a shaky drawing of breath. The blood flow was alarming – he hadn't imagined it to be that much – but he pressed on.

Once the top half of a circle was carved into his chest, he drew his hand away to readjust his grip before carving into his stomach.

It hurt more on his lower skin, where the ribs didn't stop the blade from going too deep. By the time the circle was completed, he was panting heavily, dizzy from Vicodin and blood loss, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. His mother was gone, and his breath bounced off the walls and reverberated back to him.

He carved the triangle above the circle. He carved the symbol inside, and designs at the bottom were far shallower than the rest of the markings. His vision was cutting in and out, his blood was trickling out of the carvings and pooling at the base of his stomach before running down his sides. The white porcelain was turning red as the blood flowed from the center of the tub to the drain. He had slid down - his head was resting on the edge - and he was barely able to keep his eyes open as consciousness faded. Castiel draped his right arm over the side of the tub, fingers still loosely wrapped around the box cutter.

He tried to focus on his breathing – focus on anything except for his fading blood pressure, the imminent shut down of his organs if the blood didn't clot, the fact that he didn't really care if the blood clotted or not so long as he was able to protect the Winchesters before he died – and he looked to the ceiling. The light was as bright as the summer's sun, everything else seemed hidden in shadow. His eyes remained skyward, his left hand ready to press into his chest, into the carving to dispel the angels when they broke through.

But the angels never arrived. Instead, Castiel exhaled. The box cutter slipped from his fingers and clattered against the floor.

* * *

Gabriel had a nasty habit of turning around in the front seat of the car so he could talk to his girlfriend in the back, rendering the seatbelt useless, if not dangerous. I told him I didn't care if he sat in the back with her – I must have told him a hundred times – but he insisted that would turn this wonderful threesome of pals into a couple and their chauffer and he wouldn't have it. Luckily, Sam's new house wasn't too far from our apartment and it only took five minutes before I was pulling the car to the side of the street in front of the rented U-Haul with California plates.

I started to open the door and escape Gabriel's chatting, but he gripped my shoulder and said, "Thanks for the ride, bro."

I turned back to be polite and realized my mistake instantly. His hand left my shoulder to press against my cheek. His other hand joined and together they pulled me toward him. I pushed at his chest, but he planted a big, wet kiss on my forehead before I could defend myself. It lasted a fraction of a second, only long enough for him to slobber on me and embarrass me, and he was out of the door before I even recovered. Kali was laughing, but not in a cruel way, and she wrapped her arm around her boyfriend's hip, bringing them closer together.

I wiped my forehead on my sleeve, fuming, and exited the vehicle.

The house was directly across the street from the house Sam grew up in, but it looked nicer than it ever did in Sam's childhood. Once the house was purchased, Balthazar hired someone to fix it up, and even though Castiel wasn't as good at tending flowers as Lucifer, he planted rose bushes all along the front porch. They were early bloomers, and when Sam arrived at the house first thing that morning, he was surprised by the garden that was planted for them.

Of course, even though Balthazar and Castiel had been in charge, it wasn't their idea to fix it up. They were just the patsies, and Sam knew that. He knew who he'd have to thank for it.

Gabriel and Kali walked to the back of the truck – Balthazar hugged his younger brother and his girlfriend before handing the smaller Novak a large box – so I decided to walk into the house and see if Sam needed any help someplace where I could be away from my roommate. The front door was open, but I called his name as I walked in. He answered from someplace far away with, "Dean?"

I tracked his voice to the stairs and asked, "No, it's me. You up there?"

"Yeah, come on up."

Sam was in the first room to the left, dropping off a heavy box in front of Castiel. The dark-haired Novak was sitting with his legs crossed in front of him, handing law books to Byron to place on the bookshelf. He was explaining the alphabet in a low, patient voice, even though his nephew seemed to enjoy moving the heavy books more than the learning. This must be Sam's office. The boy ignored me, his uncle offered a smile, but Sam stood and gripped my shoulder.

"Hey, thanks for coming to help."

"No problem," I answered, shrugging. "Where do you want me?"

"Actually, could you go across the street and get Dean? He told me he'd be over here two hours ago to help," Sam led me down the stairs and dodged Kali with a grin when she walked in with a box labeled _kitchen_. "I think he just got wrapped up in the drawing process. That or he's actually grading papers like he should be."

When we reached the landing, another heavy box of law books was shoved into Sam's arms. He offered a glare at Lucifer, but the blond man just winked behind his glasses. I'd only seen him in glasses a handful of times. He thought they made him look like a scene kid. He wasn't completely wrong. "Another one for your office, princess."

Sam flushed, shifting the box in his arms to get a better grip. "Don't call me that. And why can't you carry it up if you know where it goes?"

"Because you're sooooo much stronger than me," Lucifer crossed his arms and grinned. "Don't you remember that talk?" Lucifer snapped his fingers and looked at me, "Write this down. When I came back for the first time after graduation, Sammy…"

"I'm not that far into the story yet," I admitted, trying to save the younger boy. Sam sighed, rolling his eyes at Lucifer.

When Sam turned to walk into the house, Lucifer yelled out, "We're gonna move the piano next now that Gabe's here. Where do you want it?"

"Don't you break my piano, Lucifer," Sam called back. "And put it in the living room. I want the instruments in the open, so everyone knows this home is full of music."

Lucifer watched as Sam walked into the house, grin turning to something softer, an easy smile, and I found myself smiling at the sight of it. He turned his head, meeting my gaze, and he didn't drop the look. He didn't try to turn away or hide it; he just held it before nodding across the street.

"Good luck with Dean," he said, before calling to Balthazar and the two of them climbed into the back of the U-Haul.

It was the same advice I always got when I was on my way to interview him. It might have been Dean who was drunk enough to suggest his life story as the basis for my novel, but once he sobered up the next day, he wasn't exactly keen on the idea of everyone knowing what happened to him that year. He was the only one who hadn't read snippets of my novel because I was too afraid of him pulling the plug if the details were too hard to face.

I don't think he meant to be so reserved – so hard to talk to – but it took him a long time to bounce back from his senior year of high school. Even though he didn't want to, Sam convinced him to take some classes at Kansas University because it was just minutes from their house. Every semester, he gave John more hours at the shop in favor of taking more classes, and it only took him five years to complete his undergrad degree. It was impressive considering his slow start and his changing majors from Engineering to Secondary Education with a concentration on English.

He taught senior English in his home district, and while Dean loved literature and his students, his not-so-secret passion was restoration. The Impala sat in the driveway, looking as perfect as she must have rolling off the factory for the first time, only left out of the garage because Dean was working inside and needed the space.

I knocked on the door that led to the garage, and from within, Dean called, "It's open."

He didn't look up from the drawing table when I entered his garage turned restoration shop. The garage was filled with car parts set aside in some order that only made sense to Dean. The wall above the man was filled with drawings and pictures – before and after photographs of cars he restored for wealthy clients – and they were always something that gave me pause. Dean couldn't draw a person in any sort of likeness, but the orange '69 Camaro was my favorite. The sketch was almost better than the finished product; the shading on the tires and body was masterful. I mean, the yellow '71 Chevelle was mind-blowingly good, too.

Let's just agree that Dean was an artist, both on paper and in practice.

"Sammy must have sent you," Dean didn't look up from the drawing, but he didn't need to. I'd never known him to guess who was hovering over his shoulder incorrectly. "Just… two seconds."

The garage usually fit two cars – which fit the number of people living in the house – but the spot farthest away from the entrance to the house was always filled with a classic car in a various state of restoration. Sometimes Dean kept the Impala in the driveway, other times the other car was there. Right now, the blue Volt was parked next to the house. Dean claimed he hated the car and the fact that it was electric, but he was the one who bought it. He couldn't afford it on a teacher's salary, but he made good money fixing up the classics. His first paycheck from his first restoration was enough for a sizable down payment, and he bought it home as a gift without a second thought.

Besides, even if Dean claimed to hate it, the person who actually drove it was as in love with the Volt as Dean was with the Impala. So maybe Dean hated it on that principle.

I turned my attention back to the old car sitting in the other spot. I couldn't name the model of whatever Dean was restoring, but it must have been from the fifties with a body that shape. Right now she was rusted and worn down, a sad excuse for a car, but Dean would have it up and running, looking like a million bucks before I had my novel finished.

Dean sighed, dropping his pencil and rubbing his eyes. If Dean was supposed to have gone to Sam's two hours ago, he must have been in here for five or six hours straight. The only thing that could steal Dean's time from his brother was a car. I couldn't really help myself when I glanced over his shoulder, embarrassing myself when I let out a gasp in surprise.

 _This_ was my favorite.

"It's a '55 Chevy Bel Air. I've never restored a car from the fifties before. It was a bitch to create a catalogue of all the parts and prices and shit. It's gonna cost the dude a fortune, but it'll be fun," Dean shut the light off to the drawing board. "I'm thinking cherry red and white. Can you imagine her with those old, white wheels? I'm almost upset I'll have to give her back when I'm done."

Dean stood and stretched before nodding to the house, "Let me drink some coffee before we go over. Sam can wait another few minutes."

Even though Dean had lived in his house his entire life, it still looked different from the high school years. Dean's old bedroom was an office; Sam's room was slowly turning into a nursery. The furniture was different and arranged in a different set up. There were still photographs of John, Mary, Dean, and Sam, but more had been added; graduations and picnics, award ceremonies and concerts, family reunions and wedding pictures. A giant white-and-gray cat was sitting on the kitchen table, looking up at Dean like he knew he wasn't supposed to be there, but he wasn't afraid of the human taking action anyway.

"Get down, Inny," Dean hissed, but the cat just laid down on the table like he couldn't be bothered to move.

Dean's first four years in this house were happy. For fifteen years, the house spiraled downward with painful memories of an absent, drunken father. It felt some love in that nineteenth year before the pain hit an all time low.

If I could somehow go back and tell Dean that in ten years, this house would be the perfect home that he always dreamed it could be, he would have punched me in the face. But now, he poured me a cup of coffee and sat out the milk before sitting down next to me.

The cat perked up at the sight of the milk but Dean shot him a look, and I swear the cat rolled his eyes.

"Where are you at in the story?" Dean asked, probably out of politeness. We never talked specifics, not like I did with the others, but I desperately wanted to hear this moment from him. I didn't know when Dean and I became friendly enough to sit down and drink coffee together, but I didn't want to shatter this by asking him about it. I hesitated, but Dean wasn't stupid. "Cas is in the bathtub, isn't he?"

I just nodded.

"Fuck you," Dean whispered, dragging his hand over his face. The graphite on his hand drew a line over his forehead and he looked like he was coming from Ash Wednesday. The curse wasn't directed at me for once, but rather the situation. He was pained, not pissed. And I tried to comfort him.

"I just came over to drag your ass to Sam's. We don't have to talk about it."

"The fuck we don't need to talk about it," Dean dropped his hand back to his cup. "Everyone else is telling you their deepest darkest shit. And believe me, I've heard Cas' version of that night and the hero bullshit, and I get that in his broken, fucked up mind he really thought he was saving us, but he didn't have to walk in on someone he loved carved to shit in his bathtub. There was so much fucking blood, man. I thought he was dead."

When I dug my notebook out of my bag, Dean didn't even flinch at the thought that this would be written down for someone to read. His hand fisted in his hair, and he held my eye in a way he never did when he talked about that year.

"I want you to write down every fucking word. And I hope to God some teenaged junkie or delusional kid who can't figure out what's real and what's not will read this and get him or herself some help before it ever gets as bad as it got for Cas."

John Winchester loved this diner near the Roadhouse, and there was something beautiful about eating a good meal and stopping in to see Ellen and Jo and see his dad order a Root Beer. John drank the soda without shame, without even glancing at the alcohol on the back shelf, and even though John never said, the familiarity that Ellen greeted his dad with made Dean realized this wasn't the first time John had been in the Roadhouse recently.

When he cornered Jo fifteen minutes later, she told Dean that John came in here a couple of nights a week since Christmas, completely convinced that exposure to his demons would keep them at bay. The first couple of nights were rough – Ellen would drag him to the back room and comfort him – but after a few weeks, the temptation grew less.

Dean always sort of figured John would fall off the wagon, but watching him laugh with Ellen, holding the neck of a Root Beer between his fingers, without any trace of even a _thought_ of having a drink… well, Dean had never been more proud of his father.

And even though the three Winchester boys didn't say anything about it, he knew that John could tell that his boys were proud of him by the way Sam talked about school in an open and trusting way – a way he hadn't when the threat of John leaving them was always in the foreground. Sam ran ahead to get the door and Dean put his hand on his dad's should for a second.

That was all they would give each other, but it was more than enough.

"Uh, Dean? Our doors open… and there's mud everywhere."

John tried to push his way in to protect his boys, but Dean gripped his arm and pulled him back. "Stay out here with Sam, dad. If I don't come out in a minute, call the cops."

Dean heard John start to argue, but he slipped into the house and John couldn't do anything to stop him. The lights were on, and nothing looked missing or taken, so Dean followed the muddy footsteps to the dining room, then back to the stairs.

He still carried the pocket knife, and as he climbed the stairs, following the faint trail of mud and blood left from what looked like bare feet, he took the knife out and switched it open. The doors upstairs were open and the lights were off except for one.

Light spilled from under the doorway to the bathroom, and Dean took a breath, readying his knife in his right hand, reaching out for the handle with his left.

The second the door opened, he saw an arm coming out of the bathtub. There was a box cutter on the floor, and there was blood on the blade and dripping from the open fingers to the floor. He took a step forward, looking into the bathtub.

Dean didn't recognize the sound that came from him – it was loud and full of pain and fear and he didn't know a human could make that sound – but the knife in his hand was abandoned, the box cutter kicked aside as Dean rushed to the tub.

"Oh, fuck, oh, Jesus Christ, Cas," Dean knew he was too loud, screaming the mantra as he reached toward the still body in his bathtub, sure that Castiel was dead. The blood wasn't flowing from the wounds – a little bit was seeping through the bigger gashes, but the blood had mostly started to coagulate over the wounds and down his chest and stomach and sides and the bottom of the tub. The boy was white, and Dean's hand paused inches from Castiel's throat, not completely sure how to check for a pulse.

In the end, he didn't need to check to see if Castiel was alive. The screaming must have dragged him to consciousness, and his eyes slid open just a sliver. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, but Dean could tell the very second that Castiel recognized him, because he reached his hand out to Dean before shut his eyes again and sighed, a small, fragile smile forming on his face and Castiel whispered, "I thought I lost you."

Castiel's arm barely functioned, but he managed to move it just enough for it to rest against the carving on his chest – something Dean couldn't even see behind the blood – and he passed out again.

Dean wasn't sure how he was going to get him out of the tub without opening the wounds. He started digging for a clean towel to press against them when John appeared in the doorway. Dean was being manhandled into the hall before he could fight back, but when John ripped the towel out of his hands, yelling something and pointing to the door, Dean snapped. He pushed at his father, trying to force his way back into the bathroom.

He only vaguely remembered yelling Castiel's name over and over again.

"Call an ambulance, Dean!" John shouted, "And tell your brother to go tell Lucifer."

The orders cut through the panic, and when Dean saw that John was kneeling at the bathtub, applying pressure to the wounds, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed 911, taking the stairs two at a time.

" _911, what's your emergency?"_

"Dean?" Sam asked as Dean burst out the door and kept walking toward the street. Sam followed him to the sidewalk. "What is it?"

"I think my boyfriend tried to kill himself," Dean's voice was shaking into the receiver – the pitch was almost too high to recognize it as his own – and he knew he was panicking. He knew he would be no good to anyone in this state, especially when he turned and saw that Sam was screaming at him to tell him what happened. "There's a lot of blood and a knife. Send an ambulance!"

She asked him if the address she had for the call was correct, and Dean confirmed before the operator was starting to walk him through what he should do to help stop the bleeding. This was when Dean remembered his second order and moved the phone away from his mouth. Sam was standing in front of him, tears already falling from his eyes, fingers clenching Dean's shirt for support. Dean licked his lips and said, "You have to go tell Lucifer about Cas, Sam. Run! Bring him to the hospital, okay?"

Sam nodded and he was down the block before Dean could really even get the words out. He didn't go back into the house – instead he opted to tell the operator all he could about Castiel's drug habits and his delusions and how he hadn't ever tried suicide before – Dean wasn't sure what would help, but the operator was quiet and let him talk. He imagined she was taking notes.

Jody Mills, the sheriff and Bobby's girlfriend, showed up just minutes before the paramedics. She was pulling Dean into her arms before he really understood what was happening.

When the ambulance got there, the operator let him go. When the paramedics reached the second floor, they shoed John outside. Jody went in the house and his father wrapped his arms around him, pulling Dean's head to his shoulder, and Dean couldn't be bothered that the affection wasn't normal. He couldn't think about that. The only thing running through his mind was the possibility that Castiel could die – that he would die alone and high – and Dean swore to God if he pulled through, he would do anything.

Anything.

Just please, God, let him pull through.

Dean had been scratching at the cat's white back for quite a while, and I might not have noticed at all, but he was suddenly too silent. Dean looked at the cat – the cat tilted his head and looked back at him – and the man sighed.

Dean stood and brought his coffee mug to the sink. He didn't grab mine even though it was empty, and I knew it was an excuse to get away. He sighed and looked out the window and into his back yard. The cat finally jumped down from the table, rubbing up against the human's leg like he knew the man was upset. From what I heard, Dean pitched a fit about getting the animal. When he was out with his brother, he made jokes about how much he hated the beast. But here he was, bending down to pick the cat up in his arms.

I didn't push. I didn't even dare to move, but after a long moment, Dean started stroking the cat again, looking down with his back to me, like he was talking to the animal he claimed to hate.

"I road in the back of the ambulance with him, but they wouldn't let me in the room. It was touch and go for a little while – the wounds weren't deep enough to kill him from that – but he'd lost a lot of blood. I remember I was only in the waiting room for ten or fifteen minutes when some orderlies dragged Sam out to the waiting room from the ER and he was screaming bloody murder. I hadn't ever heard anyone that terrified, I swear to God. It took forever to calm him down, and he didn't calm down as much as he wore himself out," Dean turned to face me, a small smirk forming on his face. "Let me tell you, the shit that little fuck told me in his panic. I was going to murder Lucifer. I almost marched myself back to that ER room and finished him off."

Dean put the cat down on the table and took my cup, put it in the sink with his, and he ran a hand through his hair. "Hey, Cas was over there helping Sam move in, right? What was he doing?"

"He was upstairs putting Sam's law books on the shelf with Bale's kid when I left. He's probably still up there."

Dean nodded, gave the cat one last stroke (and the cat responded by shutting his eyes and purring like a lawn mower), and led the way through the house and out the front door.

We couldn't have been gone for long. The piano was sitting in the grass in front of the porch. Lucifer was sitting on a chair on the porch, his feet up, a drink in his hand. They must be taking a break. Castiel was sitting at the piano with Byron in his lap as the pair of them pushed keys together. Balthazar was leaning against the piano, grinning down at his brother and his son. Gabriel and Kali were sitting in the grass, each with a bottle of water in their hands, but their focus was on the clouds.

The only one still working was Sam.

"Figures," Dean muttered, leaning against the railing to watch the slack-asses.

Balthazar reached his arms down and Byron left his uncle's lap in favor of his father's arms. The brothers spoke for a moment, too quietly to hear from across the street, and Balthazar walked with Byron to Lucifer's car parked in the driveway. He fumbled with all the shit in the backseat for a moment before he took out a case and handed it to his son. Byron struggled with its weight, but climbed the steps and offered the violin to Lucifer like it was something awe-inspiring and priceless.

And in Lucifer's hands, the instrument was.

Lucifer was rosining his bow when Balthazar nudged Castiel with his elbow, and the older Novak started playing. Balthazar started singing, and Byron watched his father through the banister. Gabriel and Kali's eyes shifted focus too, a small smile forming on their face.

It was a rule nowadays that if you got enough Novaks together, music would never be far behind.

When the second verse started, Lucifer came in on the violin and even though Balthazar was still singing, Byron's focus switched to his uncle. Balthazar walked up the steps and sat on the far side of Lucifer, nudging him and pointing at the flowers that lined the front of the house.

" _I swear when I grow up, I won't just buy you a rose. I will buy the flower shop, and you will never be lonely. And even if the sun stopped waking up over the fields, I will not leave, I will not leave 'til our time…"_

"I think this is going to be the song they play at Sam's wedding," Dean admitted. "They fell in love with it in school, and it does fit them pretty well, minus the whole kids thing."

When the song went on to address the "son," and how _he thinks just like his mother, he believes we're all just lovers,_ and _he sees hope in everyone_ , Balthazar sang at Gabriel, and Kali gripped his arm, leaning into him. It was an accurate description of Gabriel. Balthazar switched to Castiel when addressing the "daughter," and how _she has eyes just like her father's (they are blue when skies are gray), and just like him she never stops, never takes the day for granted. Works for everything that's handed to her… never once complained._

But Balthazar was cut off when Sam walked onto the porch, sitting in the seat next to Lucifer, his eyes falling on the fingers on the neck of the violin as he sang, _"And you think that I nearly lost you, when the doctors tried to take you away…"_ Sam's hands shifted, though I couldn't see their new placement from my angle. Dean leaned forward on the railing, eyes focused on his brother, but Sam dropped his eyes and sang into his lap. _"You swore you'd be here 'til we decide that it's our time, but it's not time, you never quit in all your life. So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side. You're the love of my life; you know that I will never leave your side."_

When the song was over, Sam coughed and blushed. The Novaks were all smiling at him, and even Byron shifted away from Lucifer to cling to Sam's leg. The tall man stood, gathering Byron up in his arms like he did it all the time. "Um… thank you. But I could still use some help getting the piano in." His eyes fell across the street, and Dean waved. If anything, Sam flushed further knowing that his brother saw it all and he hurried inside with the toddler. Balthazar and Lucifer started walking toward the piano.

I couldn't help but smile and nod my agreement, "You're right, Dean. That song fits them perfectly."

Dean grinned and started walking toward the street. "Come on, man. Help us move the piano."

By the time Dean and I had gotten across the street, Castiel was standing up, getting ready to bring the stool he had been sitting on inside. There was a brief pause when Dean and Castiel only looked at each other, before Dean spoke up.

"Hey, Cas."

Castiel smiled and said, "Hello Dean."

* * *

The Church was a mile away from the Winchester house, and a leisurely walk would take twenty minutes. The fastest he'd ever run was a six minute mile – that time in gym class when he beat Lucifer – but he made it to the Church almost thirty seconds faster, not stopping until he burst through the front door.

Sam always thought that if something tragic happened to Dean, he would just know, like he would be able to feel it or something. He always figured Lucifer would feel the same thing for Castiel. But maybe there was too much wrong and tragic with his boyfriend's younger brother because when Sam found him sitting in front of the TV in the Church, he didn't look like he could tell anything was wrong.

He looked a little frazzled – but that was probably from Sam's sudden appearance – and the mirror in the living room was covered up with a blanket. Lucifer had a handful of neuroses (to put it lightly), and Sam could tell that he had been slipping without Castiel there to watch him. It wasn't Sam's place to baby his boyfriend, but he kept an eye on the scars and looked for fresh scabs. He tried to keep Lucifer from obsessively picking his scalp or scratching open sores into his bare knees when he was around, but the boy seemed pre-wired to harm himself. He did it unconsciously, and when Sam walked in, he wasn't really surprised to see Lucifer's hand move from his leg, were blood was welling from a spot where he scratched until he broke the skin.

Sam swallowed, taking a step farther into the room. He hadn't thought about what he was going to say on the way over, but now he wish he had. Lucifer stood, slow and careful, like he could read the look on Sam's face and knew something bad had happened. He didn't say anything – Lucifer looked rough – his eyes were red and it didn't look like he had been sleeping well.

"We have to go to the hospital," Sam tried to keep his voice calm, but when he wiped his hand across his face, he realized he was crying.

Lucifer didn't make a move to come forward or step back, but his posture shifted and he looked defensive. "Why?"

"It's Cas… he…" Sam took a step forward and even though there was still ten feet between them, Lucifer winced like he had been slapped. Sam stopped walking and continued. "Dean found him upstairs and he called an ambulance. He didn't tell me the details but he said there had been a lot of blood. He… Lucifer, Dean thinks Cas tried to kill himself."

Lucifer's expression clouded over and shifted. Sam recognized the fear in his eyes, but it had been a while since he'd seen it. He looked the same that he did that Thanksgiving night when Sam first learned about the suicide attempt. He looked distant and numb; Sam would guess that he was high if he didn't know better. Lucifer licked his lips and shot a glance at the TV with his eyebrows raised, and a small whimper cut from the boy's lips.

For the first time Sam looked past Lucifer to the TV. He had been staring into it when Sam walked in, but it wasn't on. He had been staring at a blank screen. Lucifer stepped away from the TV, glancing at the covered mirror, holding up his hands in surrender. His back hit the wall, and Sam froze.

Lucifer never talked about it, but Sam would overhear Castiel talking with Dean or Lucifer when he was trying to get clean. He would whisper the horrors he saw: the demons. And when Lucifer would whisper back… he spoke with familiarity.

Sam never understood how bad the hallucinations were for Lucifer until that moment. Despite everything, Lucifer had locked that part of himself away from Sam. He tried to hide it from him.

"Sam," Lucifer whispered, terrified. "Sam."

"I'm right here," Sam took a step toward his boyfriend, heart pounding in his chest. He'd seen Lucifer and Dean calming Castiel down from the ledge, but he had no idea how to do it himself.

Lucifer's head snapped away from the covered mirror. He found Sam's eyes and held them like he didn't recognize who they belonged too. Sam felt the tears coming again. He needed to get Lucifer out of here – he would snap into big brother mode if he knew how serious Castiel was – but that didn't look like it was going to be easy. Sam had never seen Lucifer look so afraid, not in the months that he had known him. The crack in the armor scared Sam.

But then there was a flash, and Lucifer breathed out and steadied himself. The crack of energy in the air dissipated, but the Church was still freezing. He seemed to snap out of his delusion; he seemed to recognize Sam. He stood and walked to the shorter boy. Lucifer wrapped his arms around Sam and kissed the top of his head.

"You know that I love you, right?" Lucifer murmured into Sam's hair.

And Sam was worried again. He clung to Lucifer, voice shaking when he responded, "I know. And you know that I love you too, but we have to get to Cas, Lucifer. We need to get to the hospital before…"

Lucifer drew away, keeping Sam at arm's length. For an awkward moment, he just searched Sam's face, like he was trying to commit it to memory. Then he sighed and offered a smile. "I know. I can't leave him alone, Sam. I've been in there before… alone and held on suicide watch for 72 hours. I just… I love you, Sam. I can't let my brother go in there alone."

"What…?" Sam started to ask, but Lucifer leaned down, placing a chaste kiss on his boyfriend's lips.

"I'll go to the bathroom, then I'll go to the hospital."

Lucifer broke away from Sam and he was in the bathroom at the other end of the room before Sam could process what he'd said. The younger boy's head was throbbing. He could still hear Dean's scream ringing in his ears; his words echoed in Sam's head like a bad love song. _I think my boyfriend tried to kill himself. There's a lot of blood and a knife. Send an ambulance._

And if Sam was being honest, he always figured that a Winchester would be screaming that into a phone to a 911 operator about a Novak. He just always figured it would be him.

The bathroom door jiggled but didn't open. Another attempted proved futile again and Sam heard Lucifer say, "Fuck. Sam can you help me get out?"

When Sam turned the door handle to let Lucifer out, he was not expecting the sight before him.

Sam hadn't seen Castiel, but he got the impression that it had been gruesome. He imagined Castiel didn't even look alive, white from blood loss, barely breathing. There was something horrific about seeing the process. When the door opened, Lucifer had his wrists pinned against his shirt, but the blood was soaking through. It was coming out fast – spreading up and down the white cotton until it soaked through and dripped to the floor. There was blood in the sink, a bloody trail to the door, and blood pooled at threshold were he tried to turn the handles. The balisong was still in his hand, but loosely. Lucifer stepped over the puddle like it was nothing, but he swayed on his feet, eyes rolling up for a second before he regained control.

Lucifer smiled. It was a small, relieved thing – it almost looked like he was drunk and found something hilarious that was undoubtedly _not funny_ – and his eyes swung out of focus again and the bilisong left his fingers. He didn't have the grip to hang on any longer. The next step caused his knee to give out, and he crumpled on the floor. He let out a barking, cruel laugh and opened his eyes to try and find Sam standing above him.

"Cut too deep on accident and severed something – I can't feel… uh – fucking mirror me." He laughed, letting his eyes fall shut again. "Maybe you should call me an ambulance too."

Everything passed in a blur. He vaguely remembered trying to apply pressure to the wounds until the paramedics showed up. He remembered that they fought him off the still body under him – that he climbed in the ambulance with Lucifer – and he remembered screaming as some orderlies dragged him away. He remembered Dean trying to comfort him; he remembered falling asleep with his head in his brother's lap.

He remembered Dean shaking him awake when the doctors came in, before he nudged their father awake too. The clock on the wall said it was 1 am. Sam had been sleeping for two hours.

"Castiel's wounds were mostly superficial, but he lost a lot of blood before he was found. It took a while to stabilize him, but he has an IV of fluids going and he should be okay once he's hydrated. He didn't feel much of anything with the high levels of Vicodin in his system, but it'll be a sore wound tomorrow. We needed to operate on Lucifer to reattach the severed tendon in his left wrist – he missed the right one but he got the artery pretty good. He would have bled out in minutes if you hadn't been there to stop the bleeding," The doctor breathed. "He's stabilized too. They're resting now. Tomorrow morning we're going to transport both of them to Grace Mental Health Facility for an Involuntary Psychiatric Hold for 72 hours. You'll be able to visit them there."

Sam didn't jump in on the brother's defense – how Castiel was probably too high and delusional to have it been an honest-to-god suicide attempt, how Lucifer had only done it so he could be admitted with Castiel – because he couldn't. He remembered the shit Dean went through trying to get Castiel clean the first time and how Dean wanted to help the boy. If Castiel sobered up and didn't want Dean, then they would break up knowing that Dean had pulled him through hell.

And Sam admired Dean's example.

If three days in Grace would push Lucifer and Castiel onto a path that could lead them to a healthier, happier life, then so be it. Sam stood, gathered his coat and looked at the doctor. He was exhausted in every sense of the word, and he heard Dean and John standing up behind him.

"What time will they be moved tomorrow?"

"9 am. They will want to speak with them first, but the doctors may also wish to discuss the nature of your relationships. Perhaps they'd want to discuss the histories of the delusions you spoke of." The doctor offered a thin, closed lip smile, an exchange of pleasantries and nothing more. The man turned and walked back into the hall to observe his patients out of sight.

Sam turned back to face his brother and dad. John tugged Sam toward him and said, "Let's get some rest, son. I'll drive you to Grace in the morning."

The youngest Winchester sighed, looking at his brother for the first time since he woke up. Dean looked worse than Sam. His eyes were puffy and red, his cheeks pale, and he offered a shrug. Sam asked, "Is it alright to leave them? It seems wrong to leave them here alone."

"They've got each other, Sam," Dean whispered. "We can't see them anyway. We may as well go to sleep." Dean's hand found Sam's. "I hate to leave them too. But there's nothing we can do here. Not right now. And we'll be back."

Sam turned and looked behind him, nodding. With the promise that he would return – that he would always return to Lucifer – he allowed Dean to guide him out to John's car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter:
> 
> “Country Grammar” by Nelly is the song that Cas and Crowley are listening to on the way to Balthazar arm’s deal.
> 
> “At least I’m not as sad as I used to be” by fun. is the song that Benny, Dean, and Cas quote at each other in the ISS room.
> 
> “Some nights” by fun. is the song Dean, Benny, Sam, Lucifer, Gabriel, and Kali sing at the date night.
> 
> “Pegan angel and the borrowed car” by Iron and Wine is the name of the song Gabriel is praying and Kali sings back.
> 
> “Die young” by Ke$ha is the song playing when Benny and Cas are in Lucifer’s club
> 
> “The Gambler” by fun. (this must be my fun. playlist) is the song in the flashforward that Balthazar and Sam sing.


	12. Now We're Standing

 

**Chapter 12: Now We're Standing**

The hospital set the tempo for Lucifer and Castiel's Involuntary Psychiatric Hold at Grace Mental Health Facility. After the Winchesters left in the wee hours of the morning, Lucifer came to. He wasn't the one with the drug problem, and he figured the IV attached to the back of his palm was shooting morphine along with whatever the hydration fluids were. He couldn't feel anything, but the fact that he was still in the hospital and couldn't remember anything after Sam told him about Castiel filled in the pieces enough for right now.

Lucifer held up his arms to check the bandages. The bandage on his right arm seemed normal but his left arm didn't just have a bandage on it. He had a metal splint under his bandage, keeping him from moving his wrist. He knew enough to know that meant something was broken, severed. He'd never cut himself bad enough to need stitches to stop the bleeding before, let alone to reattach whatever he managed to cut inside him.

He hadn't meant to press that hard. He was supposed to get locked up so Castiel didn't have to be alone. He wasn't supposed to come so close.

Lucifer sat up, fighting a wave of nausea and wondered for a moment how Castiel could live with this fog. It took him a full minute before he tested his legs and realized that the morphine didn't really impair his mobility, except for the fact it felt like he was walking through water.

He tried to wrap his fingers over his mobile IV cart, but his fingers on his left arm wouldn't move at all. He couldn't feel the fingers; he couldn't get them to move at all. He tried his right hand – it was hesitant, but the fingers into about a half-fist – and Lucifer fought the bile rising up his throat at the thought of severing the tendon in his left wrist and losing control over his fingers. He couldn't play the violin again. He couldn't play the guitar. All of his hopes and dreams for his future were crumbling around him.

The reflection in the TV, in the mirror, made him press too damn hard.

He knew there would be a time in the not so distant future when he would have to try and deal with the very real possibility of losing control of his fingers permanently – he read his chart and found out they were putting a hold on him again – and that place was all about forcing a person to deal with shit they wanted to keep buried. But right now, he couldn't worry about himself and _oh, fucking God_ what was he going to do with his life if he could never play music again?

The panic was swelling, so Lucifer grabbed the metal pole with his IV attached with his weak-but-still-somewhat-functioning ( _oh God_ ) right hand and pushed it into the hallway.

He had no idea where Castiel was. He had no idea how bad he was – he had no idea what Castiel _did_ to himself – but he knew he had to find him. It didn't take long.

Lucifer wasn't sure if it was alphabetical or if it was because they were brought to the hospital within half an hour of each other, but he found Castiel's name on the room next door. He wheeled his IV in, not realizing he had his left wrist pinned to his stomach in a protective position until he reached out to touch his sleeping brother. He couldn't feel the pain, but he remembered the night he broke his arm, how his body knew to cradle the injury.

He wondered how bad his wounds really were.

Castiel was laying on his back – Lucifer had never known his brother to lay that way – but he had the covers drawn up to his chest in a way that was too perfect. He hadn't woken up yet. Lucifer hadn't meant to wake him when he let go of the metal and brushed his hair off his forehead, but blue eyes shot open. He seemed alarmed and frightened for a split second before he wailed in pain, pushing his blankets down to look at his chest.

From his collar bone to his belly button was completely covered in bandages. Some parts toward the top seemed damp, like he was seeping through them, and Lucifer drew his hand back.

"What did you do, brother?"

Castiel's eyes were wide with panic. His face was white, and the monitor he was hooked up to started beeping faster as his heart rate climbed. His hands found the tape and started ripping, trying to get the gauze away from the wound, and the beeping changed from the normal heart-sound to an alarm.

Before Castiel tore one piece of tape off, a nurse was running into the room, pushing the tape back down. When Castiel fought her, fear in his eyes as he thrashed in the hospital bed, she pulled out a needle and stuck it into his IV. His brother was sleeping in seconds.

"What happened to him?" Lucifer asked.

"You shouldn't be in here."

"No, please," Lucifer reached out to her. "He's my little brother. Please, you have to tell me."

She bit her lip, and Lucifer noticed the way her eyes left his face to his bandaged wrists. It had been a long time since someone noticed – since someone looked at him with that look of pity – and he wanted to scream that he didn't want to die. For once in his life, he didn't want to die.

It was an accident.

It was the mirror's fault.

But he held it in, and the nurse took pity. "The boy who brought him in – his boyfriend – said he found him in the bathtub. He'd cut some weird demonic symbol in his chest. He'd lost a lot of blood before he found him."

Lucifer tried to imagine Castiel in Crowley's bathroom. He was already doing the math to discover how long until he healed enough to beat the shit out of Crowley for leaving him alone long enough to cut himself that much – to nearly let him bleed out. But Sam's face came into view.

Why would Crowley tell Sam?

"His boyfriend?" Lucifer asked. "Shorter than me, dark hair, dark eyes, British accent?"

"No," The nurse frowned. "Blondish hair. A bit darker, I guess, but it was lighter than the kid who came with you. He had green eyes… freckles. He said they were boyfriends."

Lucifer sat back in the chair and smiled. The nurse didn't say anything for a long moment, and Lucifer guessed it was because she was trying to find the words to get him back to his own room without sedating him and dragging him. The older Novak beat her to any arguments, "Can I just have a couple of minutes here with him? I haven't seen him since…" he lifted his arms and she got the picture.

"Ten minutes," she warned before she left.

And ten minutes later, when she came to gather the boy back to his room, she found the pair of them curled together, asleep in the bed. She knew she should wake Lucifer and get him back to his room. But she figured the comfort they gave each other could be worth it after all they'd been through.

But really, it just set the precedent that it was okay to sneak out of their rooms to be together at night.

* * *

 

Sam had fallen asleep in the back of the car and despite the fact his brother was getting close to six foot, Dean still had a few inches. He wasn't sure where his brother was hiding the weight, though, because he was damn heavy to lift. Luckily, Sam woke up when Dean tried to toss him over his shoulder (he was _way_ too heavy to carry bridal style), so the younger Winchester just leaned on the elder while their father unlocked and opened the door.

Despite the fact that they were all exhausted, Dean dumped his little brother on the loveseat and deposited himself on the couch with little grace. His head hit the pillow and he breathed out, grabbing the throw blanket from the back of the couch and tossing it over to Sam. The younger boy spread it over himself, faced the back of the couch and sighed.

"Do you boys want anything to drink? Hot Chocolate or…" John called from the kitchen. The comment was thick for alcohol – John usually ignored but didn't encourage the drink in his sons – but Dean didn't think that John was asking so he could get back on the wagon. Not after today. Not after both of them…

"No," Sam yelled at the same time that Dean affirmed that Hot Chocolate would be nice. After a second, Dean heard the microwave starting, and he heard Sam sniffle against the couch.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean asked the ceiling.

"No," Sam responded. "Do you?"

"No."

Dean tried counting the seconds warming the cup of water in the microwave. His dad would have put it in for a minute and a half – he counted to twenty before Sam rolled over to face Dean – and the older Winchester was still looking up, but he could hear the way his brother's voice was shaking. He was crying again.

"I should have stopped him," Sam's voice broke. "I shouldn't have let him go into the bathroom by himself. Jesus, I'm so stupid. I knew he was getting worse, Dean, but I never thought he would really do that again. I thought he was happy with… I thought we were happy."

Dean shifted, tipping his head up to look at his brother. He hadn't ever seen Sam this worse for wear. His eyes were wet and red, puffy. His face was pale; his hair fell down to his chin, curling at the bottom but sticking up in odd angles.

"No, Sam," Dean rolled himself onto his stomach, pushing up on his elbows to hold his brother's gaze. "He has, like, something in his brain… I don't know what exactly it is, Sammy, I'm not a doctor, but he tried to kill himself before. He sometimes stares off at things. He's got that whole scratching thing. It's not your fault. I doubt it was even really his. Even if I didn't know about the two of you… I mean, he obviously loves you. He's happy when he's here. But you know him even more than I do – the scratching and previous attempts – and do you really think it has anything to do with you?"

Some color flew into Sam's face, but it wasn't any sort of comfort to Dean. Instead, Sam turned angry. "I know he has a hard time, sometimes. Who doesn't, okay? But I thought that I would be enough. That no matter how bad it got for him, he could always think that at least he has _me_ and that was worth…"

"I don't know," Dean said, stopping Sam in his thoughts. "But I remember when Cas was getting clean, some of the things he'd tell me about the stuff he saw… he couldn't control that, Sammy. And I can only imagine why Castiel did what he did – whether he wanted to die or it was something else that his drug-addled mind came up with – but I can tell you this with complete certainty. Lucifer would never make the conscious decision to leave you. Nobody would ever choose to leave you, Sam. If people leave, it's because of something else. It's not you. It's never you."

When John got back to the living room, he sat in the arm chair and passed the hot mug to Dean with caution. Without missing a beat, Dean took it and transferred it to Sam. The youngest Winchester sat up and gripped the mug in his hands, resting it on his knee for a moment before taking a sip.

They settled on watching _How I Met Your Mother_ because there weren't any triggers (other than the word _mother_ , which none of the Winchesters had ever fully gotten over). Nobody had crazy blue eyes. Nobody was on hard drugs or suicidal.

The Winchester talked through the first episode, despite the late hour, because nobody wanted to be alone. And shortly, one-by-one, they fell asleep in the living room for the same reason.

* * *

 

"Please, Castiel," Lucifer tried to tighten his hold on his brother, but he still had no real control over the fingers of his left hand. His fingers on the right moved, but with the lack of morphine, everything from his shoulders to his fingers hurt. He'd cut himself dozens of times before, but nothing amounted to this pain. Except for the fingers in his left hand. He was completely numb there.

Before they put the brothers in the car to take them to Grace, the doctors separated them to tell them each what they'd done. The doctors had to operate to reattach the tendons and try to fix the nerves he'd severed. The cut went deep into the muscle, and the stitches made him feel like Frankenstein's monster. He asked if he'd ever be able to feel – or more importantly _move_ – them again. The doctors were hopeful, but it would take a long time. The tendons would take three months or so, but the nerves healed more slowly. It would likely take over six months.

Six months from now would be October 8th. Just yesterday he had had the audacity to have hoped that by then he'd be…

He couldn't even think about it now.

Castiel struggled against him, and Lucifer tightened his elbows into Castiel's side. It was as close to a hug as they could get with Lucifer's wrists throbbing and useless and the seatbelt around his middle. Normally, he'd never sit on the hump in the back, but the detox wasn't treating his brother kindly.

"Stop fighting me, Castiel," Lucifer tried to demand, but his voice was as weak as his body, and he slumped over, his head resting on his brother's shoulder. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and shut his eyes. Castiel stilled beside him – tense and ready for a fight – but didn't continue to act out.

It had been less than a five minute drive to the new facility – a brick building with a lot of grass and gardens around it – because this was the sister mental facility to Mercy Hospital. That was the only reason they let Lucifer go so early after surgery – his doctor would come and check up on him regularly – well, maybe not the only reason. The regular hospital wasn't equipped to deal with the mental aspects of Castiel's withdrawal and the onset of his hallucinations. They figured he'd be safer at Grace where half the patients were in some sort of detox program.

Grace Mental Health Facility didn't look intimidating or anything, not that it did the last time Lucifer was here, but he could feel the anxiety radiating from his brother. It was kicked up to eleven when one of their orderly escorts opened the door. Lucifer unbuckled Castiel's seatbelt but the second he was free, he tried pushing back into Lucifer, whimpering and trying to hide from the orderly. It took a lot of begging and gentle words to get Castiel out of the car. They walked toward the facility: Castiel leading, Lucifer walking two steps behind with his wrists still pressed against his stomach, and the orderly heading up the back in case either of them tried to bolt. Castiel whimpered and shook the entire way to the door, but otherwise he didn't make a sound.

He hadn't spoken a word.

The younger Novak froze at the threshold of the doorway. Lucifer couldn't use his hands to push him, so he took a step forward and shoved him with his shoulder. It was more of a nudge – Castiel didn't even lose his balance – and he walked in.

They were being treated by the same doctor, and despite the fact that Castiel should get a priority because his act was committed first, Lucifer was a repeat offender whose attempt looked more serious. He complained when the nurse checked them in, leading Castiel to his room on in the C ward (recovering addicts) before walking Lucifer toward the doctor's office.

"It's not my fault it was his first time," Lucifer whined. "He'll do better next time. Hell, he may use a gun next time. He might be hanging himself in his room right now, so I really think he should go first."

The nurse turned to him with a frown. He recognized her from his last stint in here two years ago. Pamela Barnes. Except now she was wearing sunglasses, and Lucifer frowned. Was she blind now? How could she be a nurse if she was blind? He was about to ask about it when she pointed a finger at him.

"I know you think you're fine," Her frown was hard – Lucifer remembered liking her when he was here last time and wondered if her anger had anything do with their rough parting – and she continued in a low snarl, "But joking about your brother when he is very obviously _not fine_? That is low, Novak. Even for you."

Even though she wasn't supposed to touch him, she gripped his bicep and walked the last few feet to the room. She knocked, the doctor responded, and she opened the door, nearly throwing him inside. Lucifer stumbled, a frown etched so deep in his skin he was afraid it would stay that way. He righted himself, returned his arms to his stomach and dumped himself unceremoniously in a chair across from Dr. Fuller.

"Lucifer Novak…" the doctor said, and it wasn't even like he said it with a tone. He didn't sound vicious or cruel, but maybe like he had run into an old friend at the grocery store. That almost made it worse. The doctor opened his mouth to continue, but Lucifer beat him to it.

"Look, I'm willing to commit myself to thirty days right now. I know I got 72 hours for you to evaluate me and decide if I even get a choice, but you know what your evaluations are going to say, and I'm telling you now that I'm staying."

"Are you sure, Lucifer?" Dr. Fuller frowned, lifting his eyes from the file he had in front of him: Lucifer's file. "You hated it so much last time that…"

"But it's conditional, okay? My brother has to stay the thirty days too. And you _have_ to help him. You cannot find him fit to commit himself because he won't. He's a junkie and he's going through withdrawal right now. It's going to take more than 72-hours to get him sober. And it was bad for me back then, but I had always been… the drugs did something to him, doc. They did shit to his chemistry and now… I swear, he was never like me before."

The doctor nodded, flipping to a new sheet and writing the information about his new patient down.

"And I know we've had our problems," Lucifer leaned forward, his right elbow leaving his side just a bit in a gesture that didn't mean anything to anyone but the boy doing it. "But this time, I'll be good, okay? I swear that I'll always tell the truth. I'm not just bullshitting to get out, cause I need to get better. I want to use my fucking hands again. I want to go to college and make something of my life so I can support Sam, and I can't be anything but a burden to Sam unless I know I'm not going to up and kill myself for no real good reason. I didn't mean to cut this deep, doc. I swear. I only meant to cut enough to get admitted, so Castiel wouldn't be alone and I could finally get some help and stop the fucking…" Lucifer took an inhale, searching for the words, but Fuller beat him to it.

"Who is Sam?"

"Oh," Lucifer smiled. "Let me start at the beginning."

* * *

 

Sam insisted they go to school, even though they would only be there an hour before they left to go to Grace. Dean wanted to sleep, but Sam wanted perfect attendance even more, so Dean walked him to school.

Sam found Dean halfway through first period. The younger Winchester was crying when he knocked on the classroom door, and Dean didn't wait for the teacher's permission. He just stood, grabbed his bags, and shoved his way into the hall.

"Dad just called," Sam's phone was still clenched in his hand. "He said that Lucifer and Cas have been transferred already, and their doctor called him and asked if we'd come talk to him after school. He wouldn't tell dad about how they were doing, though. Cause even though Lucifer made dad his emergency contact, we're not really family. But they're alive so…"

"Will skipping the rest of first mess up your perfect attendance?" Sam shook his head and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "Well then, let's get breakfast in the cafeteria. Then we'll finish out our day and go talk to the doctor. I'm sure he'll let you talk to Lucifer when we're done."

It wasn't until they were sitting down with their French toast sticks that Sam asked the question that they both had been thinking about. "Are you going to talk to Cas after?"

Dean just shrugged. Thankfully, Sammy dropped it.

It was weird, the way the school day went on without Lucifer and Castiel. They didn't live on a street with many kids, and the only rumors going around was that an ambulance showed up near the school at around 9 pm the night before. Nobody could confirm what happened to whom, and nobody missed the Novaks.

Well, almost nobody.

It was during Sam's lunch period that Crowley showed up. Their lunch dynamics had shifted around the time Sam and Lucifer started dating – meaning, the girls either left the school grounds to eat or they would sit at a different table – and recently, Kali had joined their group. Gabriel, Balthazar, and Kali were fighting over something stupid and Sam was eating silently, trying to decide if he should tell the younger Novaks what happened to their older brothers.

On one side, it wasn't his secret to tell. On the other, they were brothers.

Sam jumped when he felt the hand on his shoulder, and his sudden movement caused the hand to pull away. Crowley took a step back, pupils pinpricks in his skull, eyes opened unnaturally wide as if he was desperately searching for something. Sam stood, noting how he was taller than the older British teen now, and Crowley licked his lips, eyes darting from Sam's face to his torso. His beard was unkempt, he was wearing jeans and a jacket, and he was shaking.

Crowley was high as hell and fucking _scared._

He opened his mouth to say something, but words didn't come out. Sam shot a look at his friends before he grabbed Crowley's arm and dragged him toward the bathroom. The older boy was silent, completely complacent, but when they found themselves alone in the bathroom, he looked down and his fingers started twitching at the bottom of his shirt.

There was a time when Crowley walked everywhere with his head held high – snarky and cruel – and now he couldn't hold Sam's gaze for more than a few seconds. Sam might never have known Castiel before the drugs, but now that he actually was looking, he could see their dramatic effect in Crowley.

"I don't know where Castiel is," Crowley eventually whispered. "He was in… we were trying to get clean. I woke up in my bathtub this morning and he wasn't there. I tried calling Lucifer, but his phone went to voicemail. I… I'm worried about him, Sam. And I know you hate me, but I thought you might know… you'd at least know where Lucifer is. Please."

"Well did you even bother looking for him before you took an Oxy?" Sam snapped. "We came home and found him at my house, okay? He cut himself up and he's at Grace right now under a suicide hold."

Crowley's eyes snapped to Sam's and the pitiful boy's eyes filled with tears, "What?"

"You heard me. You… This is your fault, Crowley. We had Cas clean once. And if you would have been a decent human being and not taken advantage of him, he wouldn't be in the hospital right now. _Lucifer_ wouldn't be in the hospital right now," Sam tried to gain control over himself, but it was difficult. He was seeing red, and Crowley was a decent scapegoat. "You stay away from us – the Winchesters and the Novaks – because you've fucked up our lives enough."

Sam was entering the lunch room when he let his body sag against the jamb. It wasn't fair – not really – to put all the blame on Crowley. Everyone had to carry the weight of what happened. Crowley had his part in making the deal, Castiel had his part for accepting it, and Dean had his part in calling it quits when he found out. John was responsible because the deal was made for his sake.

But even that… Sam wasn't sure. Would they always end up here? Drugs or not, Dean and Castiel as a couple or not, would whatever have eventually taken over and Castiel would have done it anyway?

Would Lucifer?

When Sam walked back to the bathroom to apologize to Crowley, the older boy was already gone.

* * *

 

Dean had taken one bite into his cheeseburger when Benny slid his tray across from him and sat down. It hadn't been abnormal for the other senior to check up on him or sit with him, even after he had made out with Castiel at the club. Benny never apologized for it, but he'd walked Dean home that night, he listened to Dean swear up and down and curse everything, and when Dean woke up in the morning, Benny was curled in a ball at the other side of Dean's room, using his hat and his arm as a pillow, his coat as a blanket.

When Dean threw the blankets back on his bed, Benny's eyes opened. Even though he never said it, Dean knew Benny was sorry.

They didn't speak of it again – they didn't speak of Castiel at all – and Benny never made a move on Dean. For his part, Dean didn't even take offence to it. He wasn't even mad. Not at Benny, at least. But looking at Benny still reminded him of the days spent in ISS and Castiel. Dean tried not to be rude when he said, "Hey, now's actually not a good…"

Benny frowned, "What happened?"

"What?"

"You're… emotional. I can practically hear your blood pumping through your veins and you smell disgusting with it," Benny's eyes narrowed. "Was it your brother? Did something happen to Sam?"

"What? No."

"Your father?"

"Benny, stop. Nothing is wrong."

"Castiel?" Dean twitched and looked into his hamburger. He wanted to take another bite – he'd been starving a second ago – but now he felt like throwing up. He heard Benny's intake of breath, and he wanted to shoot him. "What happened to your…"

"He isn't mine," Dean whispered. "You know he isn't mine."

"And you know that ain't true. Not really," Benny took a bite of his lunch, letting Dean have a chance to speak up on his own. When that didn't happen, Benny started digging around in his backpack. He pulled out an old moleskin pocket-sized notebook and tossed it down in front of Dean.

Dean opened it randomly to the middle. There was a print out of a teenaged boy's face on the left. The picture looked like the typical a jock would use as their Facebook profile picture. Under the picture was a name, but Dean didn't know him. He started reading the entry on the right. He might have gotten two lines in before he felt his ears and neck pulsating with heat and he turned the page.

He flipped through at random – page after page of boys ranging in age from fifteen to thirty – with Benny's neat handwriting next to them, describing his conquests in detail. The most recent entry was the day before they got ISS, and Dean wondered if he was supposed to have been the next picture in this book of not-anonymous men. He wondered if Castiel almost was.

"I _probably_ wasn't going to sleep with your boyfriend, brother," Benny snorted. "I am great at denying myself food and drink, alcohol and drugs, but the only thing I struggle with is denying the carnal pleasures of the flesh. I'm a teenager and he's fucking hot. If you ever dragged me across a bar and pinned me to the wall, I'da probably fucked you too. There's a point to this though. You never did drag me across the wall, and that angel of yours only did it to me to upset you."

"What?"

"I spent days hitting on the both of you in ISS. He knew I was interested like you knew I was. If he actually wanted to get with me, he would have made a move in ISS or sometime before that night. Instead, he waited until you left me at the bar and you probably wouldn't see us right away. But Crowley would. It was you for him, Dean. It was always about you."

Dean shut the book and slid it across the table. "How do you know that for certain? He's always fucking high. He might have just noticed you there, alone and bored, and thought what the hell."

"No," Benny opened his notebook up to the first page. There was a photo of a young boy – fifteen or so – his skin was a little bit darker than Benny, with longer black hair and giant brown eyes. His lips looked kiss-bitten and full, and the corners turned up with an easy and loving smile. "That's Andrea."

"Andrea? Isn't that a girl's name?" Dean looked up from the notebook. He'd never seen Benny look so angry before. He snatched the book back, running a finger over the boy's face.

"Not in Italy. The Old Man was in the Navy when I was a kid and we moved around a lot. Spent a lot of time in Louisiana where I got this pretty little accent you like so much. One day when I'm thirteen, my dad just uproots us cause he's getting shipped out to Italy for God knows how long. Whenever anyone overseas hears you're America, they assume you're from New York or California, and this pretty little accent of mine got them thinking I was just an ignorant hick from the red States who couldn't have a thought of my own. They were mean to me, but not Andrea. He'd take me out on his dad's boat and we'd lay in the sun on the Mediterranean for hours."

"You loved him?" Dean asked, even though it was obvious.

"I always dreamed of the ocean. Something happened. The Old Man got discharged from the Navy cause of some piracy shit and he brought us dead center of the States where we could never see the ocean again. Andrea and I tried to keep in touch – you're right, I did love him – but then…" Benny shut the book and shoved it back into his backpack. He shrugged, and Dean could tell how painful it was for his friend. "It's thousands of miles, brother. He was climbing the social latter in my absence and wanted to hang out with his new friends. Eventually the distance became too much and he broke up with me. And so I gave in to every little urge I had that I had denied myself of because of him. And I kept note of it, so I could leave his memory behind. So I could remember them and not him. But it doesn't work. Just like the drugs don't work for Castiel. He still loves you. And you still love him."

They started eating again, and it was in a semi-comfortable silence. They focused on their own food and their own thoughts, but when the bell rang, Benny reached over the table as Dean was standing up and caught his arm.

"If you still love him and you don't do everything in your power to keep him, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Trust me, brother."

* * *

 

Grace looked nice enough – it really did – but there was still something about it that made the hair on Dean's neck stand on end. He'd dreamt about blood and torture the night before and when he tried to take a shower this morning, he'd thrown up in the bathroom even though John had cleaned it before he drove to the ER to meet his sons last night. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing Castiel bloody and white, nearly dead, and he couldn't… he just couldn't.

"Dean," Sam already had the door open, and Dean hadn't realized he had been clinging at the door handle until his knuckles turned white. "Are you coming?"

John looked at Dean, then back at Sam and he made the decision. "Sammy, you go find Lucifer. I need to talk to Dean before he talks to the doctor."

Sam nodded and slammed the door, practically running to the facility. Despite his initial worries, Sam seemed to have no reservations about seeing his boyfriend at the lowest of the low. He had disappeared inside before John cleared his throat and spoke, "It took me forever after your mom died. Every time I thought of her, I thought of the fire and when I look at you boys… I understand, Dean. But you have a choice to make here, and I don't really think anyone will blame you for whatever you decide but you. So… you need to think about what you want. Both paths'll be difficult for you, but…"

"The paths will suck no matter what, but I don't really have a choice here. Not really. I don't go in and I spend the rest of my life worrying about whether or not he's drowning in his puke or fucking someone in an alley for money and I can't… but if I go in," Dean ran his hands over his legs, fingers tightening at his knees. "I don't know what'll happen – or if anything will happen when he gets out – but the least I can do for him is give him best shot of cleaning up. I mean, he got you back to us. He deserves a chance for that."

John nodded, but he didn't say anything. Dean felt the tear breaking through the levee of his eyes and he wiped it away before it really even fell.

"You said that one day, me and you would get our talk. Is this it?" Dean asked.

John smiled, still looking out the front of the window, his hands still resting on the wheel. "Well, is there something you want to tell me?"

"I'm still in love with Cas, dad," Dean looked out the window, still avoiding eye-contact even though he knew this was a technicality. His heart still beat heavily in his chest, and he swallowed before continuing. "And I guess that makes me... Well, bisexual, I guess..."

"Get out of my car right now," John's voice was quiet, and when Dean's head snapped to look at his father, the man turned to him slowly. Dean had never seen him look so serious. "No son of mine is going to sit and hide in the car when the man he loves needs his help."

Dean let out a breath, grumbling, "Not cool," as John laughed. The elder son's neck was flushed, and he exited the car more to escape his dad than to do what was right, but once he was out in the spring air, he couldn't exactly go back in and hide.

He walked to the door, trying his damnedest to make it seem like he wasn't freaking out. By the time he reached the lobby, he knew he was failing miserably. The woman sitting behind the desk was not a secretary, unless they were forced to wear scrubs too, but she was only half dressed in the light blue material. She had an oversized scrub shirt, but she had on jeans. And sunglasses. Her face angled toward him and she smiled.

"You must be the older Winchester," she grinned at him. "Boy, I wish I still had my eyesight because I'm getting all sorts of jailbait vibes coming from you."

Dean sputtered for a second, completely caught off-guard. What shot out of his mouth wasn't exactly what he _meant_ to say: "I'm nineteen."

She offered an even bigger grin, "Well, look at you – a legal twink."

"Um…" If Dean had flushed in the car, he was burning alive now. "I'm here to talk to the doctor about Castiel Novak… I'm his… I'm a friend."

"Can't blame a girl for trying. I sent your brother off to get Lucifer, so I guess I'll take you to see Fuller now. I'm Pamela, by the way. I'm sure you'll want to know later when you realized what a chance you missed," she stood and started walking down the hall. "But I guess Cas is pretty cute, too."

Dean wasn't sure if she was picking on him or serious – they walked the rest of the way in silence – but around the time Dean was walking across the office to sit down in one of the big chairs in front of Dr. Fuller's desk, Dean almost had to wonder if she had known how nervous he was. He was still thinking about Pamela when the doctor flipped a few pages in his legal pad, looking completely exhausted, before offering a smile.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Fuller. I'm treating the Novak brothers. You are Dean Winchester, yes?"

Dean looked around the room, taking in the award certificates on the wall and the items personalizing the doctor's desk. None of it sunk in; it didn't really matter to him.

"Um… yeah, Dean. How did you…"

"Lucifer spoke to me most of the morning, and in the hour long ramble where he discussed Sam's physical features, he didn't mention freckles," Dr. Fuller folded his hands across the legal pad. "Lucifer cares for your brother very much."

"Thanks, gross, but I'm here to talk about Cas, right? Sam knows Lucifer better. I mean I'm his friend and all, but I'm not…" Dean was flustered in a way he hadn't thought he would be – sure he expected to cry and get pissed – but first the nurse and now the doctor? "Look, I want to help him, so I'll answer anything you want to know."

For a moment, the doctor and the teenager stared at each other. The doctor broke first, ducking his head and grinning, and Dean felt like he had somehow been played. "Very well then," the doctor reached for his book and got ready to write. "Are you currently in a relationship with Castiel Novak?"

"No," Dean looked at the degrees lining the wall. It was safer. "We broke up a little over two months."

"According to dispatch, you referred to him as…"

"I know. It was a slip."

The doctor didn't make a noise but wrote something down, "When did you meet?"

"He gave me some money – I couldn't afford to buy my brother something at the vending machine in school and Cas offered us some money. That was September. We were lab partners after that, and we got together after, like, two weeks."

"Did you notice that he was using then?"

"He didn't talk much at first. I think he mentioned anxiety or something, but he could have said that later. I noticed he took pills from time to time, but he took them in front of Sam and me and his brothers, and nobody ever questioned it, so I didn't either. Figured it was for his anxiety. He was using the whole time, he told me. It got bad when Lucifer tried to kill himself in November; I always figured it was because of his brother. He started sleeping with this guy for money so we could bail my dad out of jail. He got sober for about three weeks, then used with the guy, and I found out he'd be sleeping around and I broke it off. He stayed clean another week before he… he went to Europe with his dealer and he seemed to be having fun killing himself."

Of all of that, Dean was surprised when the doctor frowned and asked, "He started using harder because of his brother's failed suicide attempt? Why do you think that?" That seemed to be a weird place to focus, but Dean wasn't a doctor.

"I don't know. It just made sense. They were pretty decently close. Why?"

"No, it's nothing. Just an inconsistency," the doctor made a note of something. "I haven't spoken to Castiel yet, but he hasn't spoken to anyone since he got here. Lucifer said the reason why he thought his brother started using harder was because that was when the prostitution started. He said Castiel probably couldn't bear the thought of selling himself when he loved you."

Dean was sure there was more to the interview. It took over an hour, and they hadn't really even gotten though everything. He remembered touching on the basics: drug of choice (opiates), adverse reactions (Vicodin and Percocet), things he found comforting in the last detox (music), things he liked to do sober (read and play piano).

He gave the doctor his cell number and said he could call if he needed to know anything else. Dean left before he asked the questions he wanted to know the answers to. He doubted the man had answers anyway.

"We ask that the friends and family of recovering addicts try to stay away as much as possible," the doctor said, looking embarrassed for the first time. "We haven't evaluated Castiel yet, so we can't officially say anything about his visitation rights, but we don't know what could be a trigger for the drugs or the…"

"It's fine," Dean said. "Whatever he needs."

Despite the fact that Dean thought he could find his way out, the doctor offered to walk him to the door. Or at least, that's where Dean thought he was going. They made a left when Dean was sure they were supposed to take a right and around the next corridor was a line of rooms. Twenty feet away, sitting with their backs against the door, was Sam and Lucifer. It was the first time Dean had seen them together since finding out they were an actual couple, and he was surprised he had missed it in his self-imposed drunken stupor.

They were touching shoulder to shoulder, Lucifer was holding his left hand up, and Sam was touching the tips of his fingers. How many times had Dean seen them doing the same thing? How many times did it look and feel so natural, he never questioned it? Never questioned what it might mean.

Dean would blame it on the alcohol he'd been ingesting.

"Lucifer," the doctor warned. "You've only been out of my office for three hours. I told you that you couldn't sit outside Castiel's room all the time. He has to…"

"Cas is in there?" Dean whispered.

Lucifer stood. He was wearing light gray sweat pants and a white t-shirt; his right arm bundled in gauze, his left in something between an ace-bandage and a cast that prevented him from moving his wrist. He must have done some real damage to himself. Sam stood too, putting his hands behind his back. "I can't just leave him."

"Pamela comes in and checks on him every fifteen minutes, Lucifer. You need to focus on yourself," the doctor offered a hard frown before turning to Sam. "Anytime you're ready, Mr. Winchester."

Lucifer and Sam both looked at Dean, which might have been one of the most awkward and embarrassing moments of his life, before Sam made a move, kissing Lucifer briefly on the lips before walking away without a word. He did offer Dean a hard look that just dared him to say anything.

Dean didn't.

"Lucifer, will you show Dean his way out?" And the doctor and the younger Winchester left, leaving Dean alone with his brother's boyfriend. His brother's suicidal boyfriend who was Dean's age and the brother of the love of Dean's life.

He had a really fucked up life.

Lucifer ducked his head, pressing his arms to his stomach as he waited to be yelled at. There were so many things Dean could scream at him right now – how he wanted the truth about everything that happened with Castiel, how he wanted to know if he was some kind of monster that only went after young boys, how come he thought that they couldn't tell Dean about their relationship – but what came out was much worse.

"Sam fucking thought you did this because of him."

"I know," Lucifer whispered. "It wasn't."

"I know it wasn't. My little brother is a great fucking person, and nobody would ever want to leave him. Nobody would ever kill himself to get away from him," Dean took a step closer. He was an arm's length away from the blond boy, but he didn't reach out to him. He did, however, lower his voice. "I told him it wasn't your fault – that there was something up with your brain and you couldn't help it – so you better do all you can to get yourself better so you can be good for him. Everything you can, Lucifer. I mean it."

Lucifer raised his eyes, looking over his lids at Dean. It might have looked frightening, once upon a time, but the boy was too small – too broken looking and submissive – but he slowly raised his head until he was looking across at Dean. He nodded. "I will do anything for your brother, Dean. I love him…"

"Gross. No chick flick moments, Luci," Dean offered a smile when the comment drew a grin on Lucifer's face. "No, but for real, dude. You gotta get yourself better so you can stand being in your own head. You deserve to be happy."

Lucifer nodded, albeit a little uncertainly, before sighing. They were quiet for a moment before Lucifer nodded toward the door. "Pam started locking up the room when I kept going in without their permission, but you can look in through his window if you want to see him. He's sleeping right now." Lucifer moved aside, and Dean didn't want to look in, but curiosity won out.

It was a mostly white room, painted gray with the curtains drawn and the lights off. The bed was a similar color, hiding in the back shadows of the small room. The blankets were drawn tight over the boy in the bed, a mess of black hair sticking out from under the covers. He was trembling, but likely asleep, and Dean swallowed hard in his throat, remembering the nights he sat up trying to comfort the boy through the withdrawal.

"They've got him on methadone to help with the worst of it. He was rough when they brought him in. I haven't seen the carving he did to himself, but Pam says it's brutal. Did you…?"

"It was mostly blood," Dean admitted, eyes focused on the trembling boy. "I didn't get a look at what it was. I… um… methadone? Are they going to wean him off that too?"

"Yeah," Lucifer was close enough to Dean to peer over his shoulder at his brother. "They cut the dose in half every day, but it'll be three or four days before he has nothing. It drags the detox out, but he shouldn't have seizures. Sam told me that he was trying to get clean again. We figure he was clean for a couple of days, then found the Vicodin and took it by mistake. He could never handle that shit."

Dean nodded because he had nothing else to add. What could he say? What could he do, sitting outside a door, watching the first boy he'd ever been with – probably the _only_ boy he'd ever be with – writhing in pain on the bed, only asleep because of the drugs.

Lucifer took pity on him and placed his casted left hand on Dean's bicep, nodding down the hall. He didn't grip or tug, but Dean followed anyway. Even though he supposed he should have left – and left Lucifer alone – he couldn't bring himself to do it. The blond boy would nod so enthusiastically to whatever Dean said, listen so intently – it was hard to leave him alone.

Had it really only been a day? It had been nearly 24 hours since the last time they saw each other. What could they have to talk about other than the obvious development that Lucifer was now in a psych ward? They made due. They talked about books and movies and music for a while. Briefly, Dean made a game out of poking Lucifer's numb fingers with a thumbtack until he accidently started bleeding and Dean felt bad. Lucifer sucked the blood away with a shrug, claiming he was starting physical therapy in three days when the stitches came out. Then Dean started telling Lucifer this funny thing Kali did to Gabriel today and he froze.

"What?" Lucifer asked.

"Do your brothers know?" Lucifer made a face and that was all the answer Dean needed. "Dude, you need to tell your brothers!"

"I don't really get phone calls. Cas isn't talking at all. I changed my emergency contact, and Castiel's is still listed as our dad and they've been trying his number but obviously nobody's picking up. They're going to call Zachariah tonight – since he's the oldest, I guess – but… Sam said he didn't tell them. So, no. I guess they don't know."

It wasn't much longer after that that Sam walked toward them, eyes red and puffy but no longer crying. Lucifer stood the second he caught sight of him, like a gentlemen in those old movies who stood in a lady's presence, and when Sam walked to him, the boy wrapped his arms around his back and held him to his chest. Sam started crying, fingers digging into the back of the white shirt, gripping like he needed to cling to it or he would drown.

It felt weird to Dean, to see his brother so distraught and to have someone else to comfort him.

But Lucifer was a champ. He couldn't grip back, but he held him as tight as he could, pressing a kiss to the top of the boy's head before resting his chin there, fingers of his right hand smoothing circles over his back. He didn't make a sound to shush him into calm, but he rocked a little bit, and Sam calmed enough to say, "I thought I'd lost you," before he was crying again.

Lucifer pressed another kiss to his head, but this time, he kept his nose buried in Sam's hair. "You nearly did."

"I'm glad we didn't," Dean admitted, earning a shocked look from Sam and a small smile from Lucifer. The older Winchester placed a hand on the center of Lucifer's back for a second, returning the smile before he looked down at his brother. "Five minutes, Sam."

Dean left to wait for his brother in the car. Four minutes and fifty-two seconds later when Sam walked out and climbed into the back seat, his tears were dried and he was smiling.

And for what it was worth, Dean really was glad Lucifer didn't manage to kill himself. Anyone who could make his brother smile like that given the circumstances was alright in Dean's book.

* * *

 

It was just after seven when the phone rang. It wasn't often that the house phone made a sound anymore – Michael didn't even know that it was still attached to the wall until it started ringing – and he hurried to answer it. Group had gone well – he'd given a nice little talk about David and Saul – but dinner had gone better. Something had gotten into Balthazar lately, and he made this nice dinner for the brothers who remained at home. Michael thought that Gabriel had helped.

It wasn't the same without Lucifer and Castiel because despite the fact they had been gone for nearly seven months now, they were still sorely missed. Michael had tried filling the hole in his heart with hate, but when that started cracking away, it just remained empty.

His older brothers told him that he needed to stay focused until he rid the streets of the filth Lucifer had invited in, but it got hard sometimes. It was harder to lay in his bedroom alone, looking over at the empty bed and Jesus' words were taunting him. Michael could love the Lord with all his heart and all his soul, and he always thought he was neighborly. But how could he love his neighbors as he loved himself and hate the first neighbor he'd ever known – the boy who curled next to him in the womb.

He answered the phone with a cheerful, "Novak residence," even though he felt anything but cheerful.

"Yes, hello," it was a man's voice – one Michael didn't recognize – and he felt something dissipate in his chest. He couldn't believe that he'd actually gotten his hopes up that it could be their father calling. "This is Dr. Fuller from Grace Mental Health Facility. Might I speak with the head of the family?"

For a split second, he thought about calling up to Zachariah, but whatever the man told his elder brother would be relayed to him anyway. It would be Michael who would have to make any sort of decision, so instead he said, "This is he."

"Lucifer and Castiel have both been admitted to our facility for a 72-hour Involuntary Psychiatric Hold. Doctor-patient confidentiality limits the details I can discuss with you, but they were both referred to us from Mercy Hospital – our sister facility – after they were brought in with self-inflicted wounds. We are still determining what happened, specifically, but it is our understanding that they were found across town from each other – it wasn't a planned pact of any sort – and Castiel is going through an aggressive detoxification right now. He was dependant on several drugs. Lucifer has agreed to spend thirty days committed to try and…"

Michael had listened quietly, politely, as he always tried to do on the phone. But the words were spinning out of control, getting twisted and turned around before they reached his brain and he whispered, "… what?" into the receiver. The doctor offered a pause and a breath, before trying again.

"Lucifer had been committed before, two years ago, correct?" Michael nodded, but the doctor couldn't see him. It didn't matter, the doctor continued anyway. "He was diagnosed with schizophrenia and was prescribed Thorazine. He admitted that he stopped taking the drug a while back – in June of last year – does this ring a bell?"

Michael whispered, "Yes."

"We are unsure if anything specific triggered the relapse, but he admitted to another failed attempt at taking his life in November and since then, he has been trying to keep the symptoms at bay with varied success. He has volunteered for further treatment, but the diagnosis will likely be similar."

Michael let out a breath, "Will he be okay?"

"He is responding significantly better this time. He seems to actually want help, and this could help with his treatment. As for the wounds, he would have bled out in minutes – it was a very serious attempt – however, the doctors were able to reattach the tendons and repaired some nerve damage and while he currently has no feeling in his fingers…"

"What?" Michael yelled. "It was… when did this happen?"

"Last night. Twenty-two hours ago."

"Why in the hell am I just hearing about this?" Michael demanded. Gabriel poked his head out of his bedroom door, but Michael tried to wave him away.

"The emergency contact for Castiel was listed as his father and we spent much of the day trying to reach him on his cell phone. We did, however, call twice earlier today, but nobody was home and you don't have an answering machine."

Michael dragged his hand through his hair in a quick, angry motion. "Is he ever going to be able to use it again?"

"The doctors are hopeful," and Dr. Fuller sounded hopeful, too, so Michael tried to let his anger slide away.

"What about Castiel?"

There was a pause, and when the doctor started, he chose his words carefully. "We do not believe Castiel's injuries were necessarily suicidal – although they were self-inflicted – but rather, we feel that it was a result of a bad experience with some drugs he was taking. He is going through the detox process now, but he will not be sober by the time his 72-hour hold is up. We haven't completed his evaluation, so he might not get the chance to choose to stay or not. At this point, it seems likely he will be required to stay for an additional thirty days as well."

"Good," Michael breathed. "Do you think it'll help?"

"We can only try," the doctor stated. "Visiting hours are over for the night, but they will resume tomorrow after lunch if you or your brothers wish to stop by."

Michael nodded. "I will relay the message. Thank you for letting us know what's going on, Dr. Fuller. It… You didn't have to do that, but I appreciate it."

"Anytime, Michael," the doctor said before hanging up.

Gabriel was still standing behind him, eyebrows raised into his hairline with concern. Balthazar was peeking his head out of the door, and his yelling must have gotten the interest of his older brothers as well. Uriel and Raphael were walking down the stairs.

For the first time since he gained control over his family, he regretted having that power. How in the hell do you tell someone that their brothers were… Uriel must have seen it on Michael's face because he yelled up to Zachariah. Gabriel put his hand on Michael's back.

The air left Michael's lungs and his knees buckled. He leaned against the counter for support and was surprised when he felt the wetness sting the back of his hand where the tears were starting to drip from his chin.

* * *

 

It was a rare moment when Pamela didn't catch Lucifer outside Castiel's room, even though the boys had only been there for fifty-five hours. The only time Lucifer wasn't hovering was when he was in with the doctor or had been physically removed to his room for lights-out. Castiel was on day two of the methadone-only, and he was starting to even out on it, even though they were giving him less both days.

Unfortunately, that meant that tomorrow he would be starting with nothing. It would be hard.

Lucifer was rocking at the hip back and forth manically, his knees drawn to his chest and his arms covering his head. He was whispering under his breath, but still loud enough for Pamela to hear him.

" _This is my kingdom come. This is my kingdom come."_

He didn't react when Pamela approached; she figured he was in the middle of an episode. It wouldn't be the first time – the doctors already had his diagnosis and they started him in on the Thorazine again – and it made him drowsy and fixated (among other things).

" _When you feel my heat, look into my eyes. It's were my demons hide. It's where my demons hide."_

Pamela shut the door behind her, careful not to be too loud and stir the boy outside. She turned back to the boy on the bed and her heart broke for him.

She reached out a hand and touched his foot. By that, she knew he was lying on his back, eyes probably focused on the ceiling like he could see right through it to the sky. He had mostly remained in this position from the time they got him in there, only moving to go to the bathroom and bathe last night. When she approached him, she could feel his eyes on her. Then she heard some shifting, and she knew he had brought his hands to the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, revealing several large bandages taped together over the vast majority of his chest.

"How're you feeling, Castiel?" Pamela asked, but she knew better. By a slight sound of his head turning on the pillow, she knew he answered her with a tilt of his head and he didn't even wince when she pulled the tape from his chest and lifted the gauze from the wound.

It was a hell of a wound. Pamela couldn't see it (obviously) but she traced the scabs with her fingers as she was spreading antibacterial cream on his chest the night before. The outer circle took up the vast majority of his chest – the top arch of the circle had been deeper wounds and created thicker scabs. The bottom half was still scabbed, but looked more like deep scratches than something created by a box cutter. It was warm around the wound, so it would likely have a tint of red – but they'd been taking precautions to keep infection down – and Pamela put disinfectant on the wound and rubbed a thin layer over his chest.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

His shirt would stick to the antibacterial cream, but he should try to keep it uncovered for the night – once he stopped the methadone tomorrow, they would probably need to cover him back up to keep him from ripping them open – and he eyed her when she tugged the hem of his shirt down without a bandage but didn't say anything.

He hadn't said anything in days.

And Pamela had always been good with her patients – her nearly psychic ability to give them what they needed was what allowed her to stay on even after she lost her sight – and she empathized his silence with her own. She held a hand down to him and felt his cold hand slide into hers. When she tugged, he got the idea and stood. She kept their fingers cupped together as she pulled him from the room.

But she hadn't even thought about Lucifer.

Technically, it was the first time Castiel had seen his brother without a door between them. The codependency was pushing a psychotic level. Lucifer would have snapped eventually and ended up here, but the fact that he would risk it to end up here so his brother didn't wind up alone was pushing it a bit far. Castiel's hand tugged from Pamela's as his knees hit the floor. Pamela heard Castiel make a pained sound from deep in his throat that didn't come from the shot to his knees, and she could hear his clothes ruffle in protest when he threw his arms over his brother's shoulders.

Lucifer mumbled a little bit, waking up enough to hug back and offer, "Hello Castiel."

Castiel didn't respond. For a brief second, Pamela wondered if Castiel was signing at his brother (wouldn't that be hilarious – the mute boy had a blind nurse) but she couldn't hear a sound other than Lucifer rubbing Castiel's back and the strained breathing of the younger boy, trying not to cry.

Most blind people probably wished for their sight back all the time, but Pamela would have given a lot of things to see this hug. She could feel it – the emotions were rolling from the boys like waves – and it simmered and cooled until Castiel was relaxed and Lucifer's sleepy voice asked, "Where are you taking him?"

"The doctor wants to try and talk to him. I don't have a clue how long it'll be, but you should go to your room and get some sleep. If anything happens, I'll come get you. I promise."

She didn't hear anything for a moment, and she assumed the boys were trying to decide their course of action. Then, Pamela felt a hand thread through hers again and Castiel stood at her side. Lucifer hugged him again once they were standing – he touched Pamela's other hand in a tap of gratitude – and started walking back toward the A-wing, where the other suicidal people slept.

Pamela led Castiel to Dr. Fuller.

She usually didn't hang around for the interviews, and she had only had a few minutes before she had to check on the kid who came in last night with wounds as bad as Lucifer's but less severe hallucinations. She let Castiel sit in the chair and leaned over the doctor, whispering, "Call me if anything happens with him."

After he agreed, she walked slowly toward the door. The doctor took a moment before he started in on his spiel that he did with all the addicts.

"We ordered blood-tests for various blood borne pathogens and sexually transmitted diseases, and I'm overjoyed and honestly a little shocked to announce that you're completely clean. Lucifer told me you never shared needles, but he wasn't quite sure about your… um… sexual history. Rather, he wasn't sure about the safety precautions you used with one partner… a Mister Anthony J. Crowley. I'm sure this isn't the easiest spot to start at, but it's as good as any, isn't it?"

Pamela was a nurse and that meant anything she knew about a patient was in strict confidence and she wasn't allowed to tell any details about Castiel to anyone. Technically. But the complete sigh of relief that escaped Lucifer's lips when Pamela knocked on the door and opened it long enough to whisper, "He's clean," was totally worth it.

* * *

 

When the other girl sat down next to Kali in study hall, she had this strange look of determination that Kali hadn't really seen on anyone in a long time. The girl's eyes were red, like she had been crying a little while ago, but she wasn't now. Her hair was curly – she was cute in a very typical way – and Kali put her pen down, knowing her eyebrows were rising into her hairline, but she wanted to at least try to hear the girl out.

But what was her name again?

"Are you and Gabriel dating?" She asked. Her accent was pleasant – like Benny's or Crowley's – and Kali knew the stories of why she jumped the pond to live with her uncle. Her dad hadn't exactly been father of the year, and some people said that she had caused the car accident that killed her parents as a way to escape the dark nights locked in her bedroom as a child.

Kali shook her head, "Not that I'm aware of."

The girl – for real, what was her name? – looked mildly surprised, "Oh. My mistake… Balthazar said that…" She paused, pushing her hair back and out of her face. "My apologies."

It was Bela, Kali suddenly remembered. Bela Talbot. And when Bela stood up to walk away, Kali couldn't help but call out, "Why?"

Bela turned back, her hair flying out and falling in a curtain around her shoulders. She was wearing a V-neck that was too big for her – it was tight at her chest but baggy at the stomach – and Kali realized it was Balthazar's shirt. She looked cute in it – she looked _happy_ – and Kali hadn't even realized that she wanted in before that moment. Kali had never longed for companionship and family. And certainly not a fucked-up sham of a family like the Novak clan.

She had never wanted a sister before.

"You heard about Lucifer and Castiel?" Bela asked, and Kali nodded. Michael had all but stood up and announced it in class and Balthazar and Gabriel had been shells for the past five days. The younger boys had gone to see them, but Castiel was still detoxing and they couldn't see him. Lucifer spoke with them briefly in the dayroom before he just zoned out.

They hadn't been back since.

"I… Sam told me that John cleaned up after Castiel so Dean wouldn't have to see it again. I've been keeping Balthazar away from the Church, but eventually he's going to sneak in there, or worse, Sam'll have to go back and clean up. I just… if Balthazar ever did anything like that, I wouldn't want to have see it. Especially not Sam, I mean, he had to deal with it once already," Bela crossed her arms and gave a half-shrug. "I thought I'd ask for help. I asked Michael's girlfriend Hester, but he barely leaves her side since he found out and she doesn't think she can get away without him trying to tag along."

Kali nodded, "I'll do it. I'll help."

Bela sighed, a genuine smile painted her face, and Kali couldn't help but mirror it back to her. "Thank you," Bela whispered. "It'll mean a lot to the boys. I know it. I'll meet you there after school. Thank you again, Kali."

The day was over rather quickly, and Kali beat Bela to the Church. She thought about going in and getting a head start, but she also wasn't sure if she should. Gabriel had mentioned to her that Lucifer had needed surgery to reattach _things_ that he had severed.

But even her imagination couldn't do the scene justice.

When Bela and Kali walked into the open room, there was nothing at first, but after they stepped forward, they could spot the small pool of week-old, dried blood where Sam must have tried to stop the bleeding while he waited for the paramedics to the left. There was a trail from the spot to the bathroom, another dried pool just inside the door, and the bathroom sink was coated with it. Some parts were dark red, but where there was more blood coagulated in one spot, the blood turned dark brown – almost black – and Kali saw Bela put her hand over her mouth and shut her eyes.

Kali could dissect pigs. She could watch crime shows – she had seen dead bodies – and she could stomach all sorts of horrific things. But this blood… she _knew_ who this belonged to. She had seen that boy drinking and having fun, completely in love and happy. She knew him.

It felt like someone was sticking needles in Kali's eyes – the tears came that violently – and she choked down a sound and replaced it with a question, desperate to break the silence. "He's okay though, right?"

"Balthazar told me Sam said that he has some feeling back in his fingers but he can't move them really. He got the stitches out yesterday and they started ultrasound therapy or something," Bela whispered. "They're hopeful, though. Think that he'll get full control back in six months or a year. They say he's taking to treatment a lot better this time too, so he might never even try again."

"What about Castiel?"

"Nobody knows much about how he's doing. Sam doesn't know, so that means Lucifer doesn't even know. All they know for sure is that he's been off the methadone for five days and he's through most of the withdrawal, but he still isn't talking," Bela took a step back, clearing her throat. "I'll go get the bleach."

It was a long process. For a long time, the girls worked in silence. It was strange – Kali thought – how strong this made her feel. She didn't like to think of work in terms of masculine and feminine, but as she scratched dried specks of blood from the linoleum, she knew that only a woman could have done this for the Novak boys. Only Bela would be thoughtful enough to spare her boyfriend and his family the pain of seeing this – the hours of thinking while the hardened stains refused to give – and Kali admired the strength of her new friend's character.

Bela sat back on her heels – they'd gotten all of the floors done and all that remained was the sink – but they were both exhausted and the bleach saturated their skin, leaving angry, itchy patches. Bela ran the back of her hand over her forehead, trying to push her hair back, and sighed.

"Do you love Balthazar?" Kali asked, out of nowhere. Bela turned to face her, and Kali knew instantly that was a stupid question. Look at what she was doing for him. Instead, she tried to rephrase. "Do you think he loves you?"

Bela's face fell a little, and she offered another shrug. "He doesn't like to tell people, but a little while ago, I thought I could be pregnant. Bale just lost it. He started hanging out with Crowley and Cas, started smoking pot a lot, shooting a gun he bought… if you asked me then, I'd have said no. That first night that Michael told him about his brothers, he ran to my house. He curled in my arms like a child and cried for hours. About everything. How he hated that he couldn't save Cas or Lucifer and how he hated that he lost touch with Gabriel when we started dating. We spent forty-five minutes trying to come up with good names for the kid we weren't going to have… he…" Bela shrugged, a smile playing on her face. "Yeah. We love each other."

Gabriel had gone to Kali that night, too. They didn't cuddle or talk about their future. Gabriel just showed up – eyes red, cheeks still tearstained – and they'd watched old Adam Sandler movies and Gabriel had fallen asleep when Kali went to make more popcorn. They hadn't talked about anything that night – nothing about Gabriel's brothers or his regrets or what they could name their kids – but it seemed like what Gabriel needed at the time.

"What name did you decide on?" Kali asked, because she felt like she needed to ask something to keep the conversation going. She was afraid of losing this moment.

"Anna – after his mum – if we had a girl."

"And a boy?"

Bela smiled, pouring a bit of bleach into the sink before she started scrubbing again. "Byron."

* * *

 

Even from inside my car, I could hear the marching band down the street. I couldn't see them, but they couldn't be far. By the time I gathered my notebooks, the band was rounding the corner and heading into the side door of the school. They looked exhausted from marching for the past forty minutes with their instruments – the poor bass drum kids were bright red and panting in the dry June air – but their instructor had a spring in his step, yelling at them to put their crap away quickly so they could watch another video before the assembly.

That was about the time he noticed me. He shouted my name like I was his favorite of his wayward flock, but Michael treated everyone like that. He could make anyone feel special and important, even if he just met them. The man threw his arm around my shoulders and led me into the band room.

He had on a white track jacket, just like Lucifer's, with blue wings sewn onto the back. The only difference was the name over his chest. Michael's jacket had his own name.

"My lunch doesn't start for another five minutes. No sweat though, we're going to watch one of Lucifer's videos. Have you seen them all?" I had seen them all, but I shook my head anyway. Michael beamed in a way I'd only known siblings to beam at each other. "Well you're in for a real treat. I saved the best one for last." He deposited me in the flute section – three teenage girls eyed me, then started giggling – and rushed out to the hall to usher the kids back into the room.

More kids looked at me, no doubt wondering who I was, but Michael didn't offer the information and the kids didn't ask. Once they were all sitting, Michael fumbled with the computer and lowered the screen. YouTube popped up, and while he waited for the video to load, he clapped his hands and the kids grew silent.

I remembered going to his groups in high school – he had an undeniable charisma – and it translated incredibly well to teaching. Luckily, he managed to recover after that first semester in New York.

"Alright, everyone. As you all know, my brothers will be here this afternoon to give a demonstration on using music after high school and the benefits of continuing on with music for higher education. All week we've been watching Lucifer's class projects from college in preparation for the assembly, and this one was his final project for his sophomore year."

He hit play on his computer and leaned behind him to get the lights. I recognized the video from the first shot, when the harp started playing and the camera moved back from a zoomed-in shot of Lucifer's face to his head and shoulders. His eyes shot open – the blue the only semblance of color in comparison to the white ground.

" _Happiness hit her like a train on a track."_

The background was still white, but as it continued on, Lucifer stood – dressed completely in white – and it made his skin pop with color. Lucifer ran a hand through his hair and when the chorus started, he took off running.

" _Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father, run for your children, for your sisters and brothers…"_

He left the white area and was suddenly outside, running barefoot over the sidewalk in a park. As he ran, his lips matched the words of the song until the chorus ended. The second the last note rang out and the music died down, Lucifer crashed into a body. The camera shook, and Lucifer's hands remained on the man's chest.

" _And I never wanted anything from you, except everything you had and what was left after that too."_

It panned up, the background white again, revealing Sam. And I knew this was the first video the pair of them made when Sam was taller than his boyfriend. Sam was less than an inch taller at this point – neither of them would have guessed he had another four inches in him before he was done – and Lucifer smiled, running his hands up Sam's chest. The younger boy leaned over, putting his face in Lucifer's hair and wrapping his arms around the now-smaller boy's waist.

When Lucifer turned and took off running again, he was back on a sidewalk in a park.

" _Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back, shot from a great height by someone who should have known better than that."_

It panned to Sam in a tree and as Lucifer ran past, the younger boy in the tree aimed a paint-ball gun at his boyfriend. The camera followed Lucifer until a red ball exploded over his back, painting the white shirt. He fell forward, and when his front hit the sidewalk, the park melted away so he was just in the white room again. His eyes slid shut, but he still mouthed the words. Around his chest, red paint started spreading like it had been a real gunshot and he was bleeding out.

Sam walked up to him during the pause in singing and rolled Lucifer onto his stomach. His white shirt was now decorated with splashes of red paint. After a quick pat on the face, the blond boy's eyes shot open with a sharp intake of breath. Sam held his hand down, tugging Lucifer to his feet. They both looked to the left then took off running to the right, running hand in hand through the park.

" _The dog days are over. The dog days are done. Can you hear the horses cause here they come?"_

There was always a moment in the videos that Sam was in with Lucifer where they broke character and even if the song played up their love, it was always obvious when it switched from being a story to the extra footage of the two of them goofing around. When the chorus hit, Lucifer jumped on Sam's back, and the taller boy spun in circles, looping his arms over Lucifer's legs. The blond boy was laughing, arms tightening over Sam's neck to keep him from being thrown off. After a few moments, the pair of them crashed in the grass and rolled away from each other.

As the final drum beat ended the song, they turned to look at each other, breathless behind their grins, and their hands shot out, finding each other in the middle. The screen went black before YouTube asked what video we would like to see next.

The kids didn't clap or anything, but the second the lights came back on, they started talking in hushed voices about it. I sort of wondered how Lucifer would come across back in Kansas. In California, his determination to impose his personal life in his art made him somewhat of a superstar. Everyone on campus had treated him like a friend; anyone with internet access could find out his life story.

He was an active member of several organizations involved with equal rights for everyone and a photo-shoot of him and Sam that they did for the No H8 campaign won him a scholarship. Lucifer had embraced his love for another man in a way I had seen few others from Kansas do. I thought him coming home would be hard – _nobody_ is open like that in Kansas – but looking around, I could see his legacy. There were kids in the class who weren't afraid to sit next to each other and hold hands.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.

And it really was Lucifer's legacy. Lucifer was the boy who was thrown out of his house because of his sexual orientation. Lucifer suffered and fought and climbed his way up from the ashes. He was always willing to share his story, hoping it could help some other poor kid. And because of this, he didn't cast himself opposite of anyone but family and Sam for his videos throughout most of his undergraduate degree. In fact, Sam was always his romantic opposite in everything right up until Lucifer's second semester of his senior year of college when he couldn't any longer because… uh… well, I'm getting ahead of myself.

The bell rang, and the kids hurried out. Michael grabbed his lunch and motioned to the door, and as I followed him outside to the picnic table where he ate lunch on nice days, I wondered if Sam would be here. He probably was working at his lawyer job, but since he moved back to Kansas, him and Lucifer seemed to be getting along pretty well, considering.

(And although I would never admit it to Lucifer – his best songs were the duets with Sam).

We sat on the picnic bench and Michael opened his pink and white Vera Bradley lunch pail that Lucifer had gotten him for Christmas as a joke and Michael kept using as a joke, but the funny part of the joke was that everyone knew it _wasn't a joke_ – Michael really loved that thing. He pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a banana, a bowl full of lettuce in a Tupperware container, a container of yogurt, and a packet of Hohos. He started with the sandwich but opened the lettuce as well.

I could tell from the smell it was Hester's homemade dressing and my mouth started watering. Michael grinned and pushed it toward me. "I get that all the time. Dean steals it more often than I get to eat it myself. Eat up before he gets out here."

Michael passed me his fork and you'd think it would be weirder eating after the Novaks, but I was so firmly planted into their family dynamic at this point, they half expected me and Gabriel to push our twin beds together to make a queen.

Michael just started in on his yogurt, not missing the salad at all. He let me eat a few bites in peace – sometimes I swear I wouldn't eat at all if the Novaks didn't feed me – before he pointed his spoon at me. "Lemme guess. I'm about to visit Lucifer at Grace."

"Bingo."

"I heard you were that far into it, but damn," Michael turned his head when the door opened. "I was hoping for a happier memory."

"Oh, you asshole," Dean had a Styrofoam tray with cafeteria food piled onto it. He sat down across from Michael and I and reached out to grab the salad. "You seriously gave it to him?"

"You get it every day. I'll just beg Hester to give you the recipe."

"Aw, Mikey," Dean took a bite into the cheap, school pizza. He'd never been one to complain about his free lunches when he was here ten years ago. He would pile on whatever was offered that day, even though he had someone at home more than willing to make him a lunch. Some men were just psychopaths. "You know she doesn't like me. And she knows the only reason I'm nice to her is because of her dressing. She'll never tell me shit."

Michael smiled, finishing off his yogurt. "She's been my girlfriend for years, Dean…"

"You're common law _married_ , Mikey," Dean interjected. "You should put a ring on it before yet another one of your younger brothers beats to you to the draw."

"… so you'd think you would be a little bit more polite."

"Polite about who?" Charlie Bradbury sat her lunch pail down next to Dean. "Not Hester, again." She nodded her hello to me, but dug into her food quickly, too. "I had her in class, Mike. She's boring. And kind of mean."

Michael sighed. "She really isn't. You just… she's very devout and…"

"Boring," Dean and Charlie said in unison.

If you would have told me back in high school that Charlie, Dean, and Michael would be the cool teachers at school, I would have laughed in your face. But here we were. It's strange what time could do.

Dean made a sound with pizza half-chewed in his mouth and he looked over at Charlie, "You have Kevin Tran, right?" Charlie ignored his mouth full of food and nodded around her sandwich. "Dude brought up a point today with _Cat's Cradle_ that I had never ever thought of before – my fucking Vonnegut teacher in college never brought that up before – and I had a hard time not exploding over it. Dude wrote an essay at the beginning of the year about how he wants to be the first Asian-American president, and I'm wondering how to sign his ass up. I'd vote for him now."

"I think he has to be, like, 45 to run," Michael added, but was ignored. The pair of them talked about Kevin pretty frequently, but Michael didn't know him and was always left out. He taught band, and Kevin played the cello.

"Yeah, you get them from time to time. Your little brother was the same for me. Some of the stuff that came out of his mouth…" Charlie said, shaking her head. Dean beamed with pride. Any compliment to Sam was sort of a compliment to Dean as well. He practically raised his little brother.

After a few moments they fell silent and Michael got back on track. He didn't seem embarrassed to talk about it in front of his colleagues – his friends – and sometimes I wondered how Michael and Gabriel and Balthazar had no shame when shame was Castiel's primary emotion when dealing with the past.

Michael had been twitchy all day that day. Lucifer and Castiel had been admitted for over a week and a half, and despite his overwhelming desire to see his brothers, Zachariah insisted that they should be left alone to deal with themselves. Zachariah wasn't cruel – not really – but he believed in the system, and he believed that with the drugs and the therapy, the pair of them could get better. They could get to a place where they could denounce their sins and join the flock again.

Michael had his doubts.

He didn't have doubts that Lucifer and Castiel were still family – that they could be family again – but he had doubts about their sins. Who cared who they were in love with? Who cared what had happened with them in the past six months? Who really cared what they got into and what they'd done? What mattered was here and now. They needed help. They needed somebody to lean on.

And Michael needed them back.

He was so into himself, he didn't notice the bell had rung until he was alone in the room and Charlie Bradbury was leaning over him. She rested her forearms arms on his desk, and from another teacher, rumors would have swirled at the laid back way she approached her students. There was something platonic about Charlie though… something that didn't make him thinking of her other than someone who might understand.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked, and that was really all Michael had needed.

It was her lunch period now, but she sat with him as he cried, blubbering about tales of their childhood. He told her about Lucifer's first stint in Grace – how he had tried to kill himself then too – and how scared he'd been. He told her about their mom, about their dad, about Zachariah and the twins and Castiel's drug problem, and Balthazar's pregnancy scare, and Gabriel's pagan girlfriend. He talked for what seemed like hours, but she just sat there and listened.

She rubbed his arm at the appropriate spots. She cried a bit when he told him about breaking Lucifer's arm because of Sam. She asked questions about Dean and Castiel and listened through the stories about Crowley and what Castiel had done.

(Throughout this retelling, Dean and Charlie both kept great poker faces. They listened to Michael's anguish, but never once butted in. Although to be completely fair, at one point Charlie had to wipe tears from her eyes, and Dean whispered to her, _'Everything's okay now. We're all okay now. We don't have to be upset about the past.'_ But it didn't do much to calm her.)

"Listen, Michael, it's been no secret about where my sympathies lie in this disagreement," Charlie started, her hand remaining in contact with his arm. He felt like he had been talking for hours, but a look at the clock proved he had only been speaking for thirty-some minutes – enough to waste her lunch period – but not enough to be late for his next class. "I went through some rough patches as a kid. Your brother needs to believe in himself – he's a great guy – and he totally loves Sam more than I thought a kid his age could love another human being, but you can't make this more difficult for him to ease your own conscious. If you go to see him, it has to be with unconditional love. You can't go and tell him the things you've made him believe about himself for the past six months. We're all sinners, Michael. But isn't your God supposed to forgive it all?"

When Michael walked up to the guest sign-in at Grace, he could hear the piano from the dayroom. The woman at the counter couldn't see him – if her sunglasses were any indication, she was blind – but the second he wrote his name on the paper and wrote his twin's name as the guest, she gasped, tilting her head to look at him.

As if she could really see him.

"Are they through the door?" Michael asked, gesturing behind him. She couldn't know what he was doing, but she nodded all the same. She let him go, but he could feel the heat burning into his back like she was watching his ascension.

There were people scattered around the dayroom, but Michael found Castiel's back quickly. He just had to find the piano. The chords were simple, held out, and once he got a little closer, he could make out the words breathed from his twin brother.

Lucifer had his eyes shut. He was curled into a ball, sitting at the armchair next to the piano. His right arm wrapped around his knees, his left palm was turned up with a sand-filled balloon resting at the center. Every few seconds his fingers would twitch, but he couldn't close them around the stress ball. Instead, his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, his singing secondary to the focus of gaining control over the muscles in his damaged arm.

" _Holy, holy, holy. Is the Lord God almighty? Who was and is and is to come. With all creation I sing – praise to the King of Kings. You are my everything, and I will adore You."_

Castiel kept hitting chords, but Lucifer waited for the next verse with his eyes closed, and despite their seven month absence from being brothers, Michael could still read his twin. He was exhausted, he was in pain, but he was taking whatever medication his doctors were telling him to take. Whatever it was was faulty. He might not be seeing things – he might not be trying to kill himself – but he wasn't… himself.

And Michael could read Castiel too. He was sober – he was too jumpy and sweaty to be anything but clean – but they hadn't started on his drug therapy yet. They were still probably trying to diagnose him. If the rumors Michael heard from Sam were true, Castiel still wasn't talking.

Castiel twitched first – feeling the form grow closer – but Lucifer didn't open his tired, drooping eyes until Michael started singing the second verse. He sang the harmony, and when the pale eyes opened, Lucifer stopped singing for a brief moment, like he didn't really trust his eyes, like he didn't believe his brother was there. After two missed words, Castiel turned his head and Lucifer sat up straight, eyes growing in size as he started singing again – singing with Michael for the first time in well over seven months.

" _Clothed in rainbows of living color – flashes of lightening, rolls of thunder. Blessing and honor strengthen, glory and power be to You, the only wise king"_

When they started singing the chorus together, Michael extended his right hand, palm up, fingers open. Lucifer hesitated, but only slightly. His hand was palm down, and it hovered for a second over Michael's, just a breath of air between them, before Lucifer let his hand slide into his twin's.

A chord was missed, and Castiel's hand suddenly came into view. One hand touched Michael's from the bottom and Lucifer's from the top. The twins looked at their younger brother, but he didn't say anything. Words weren't needed.

I didn't notice Michael getting choked up, but Dean's hand went effortlessly around Michael's shoulder and he tugged him into a side-armed hug. I remembered the time Dean got thrown into ISS (and Michael had gotten _suspended_ ) for beating the crap out of each other up in the hall. Ten years was a hell of a long time.

When the new, blue car pulled up behind mine on the street, Dean pulled his arm back. It didn't take any of them more than two seconds to place the car – it was the only one of that make and model and color in all of Lawrence – and it only took four seconds longer for Lucifer to jump out of the shotgun seat and started running toward the group at the picnic table. Sam jumped out of the backseat half a second later in a suit and tie, a briefcase in his hand, cheeks an angry red as he took off after him.

Lucifer – as always – lost the race because he was focusing behind him. When he turned to look and see if Sam was gaining, the taller man wrapped an arm around Lucifer's waist and the pair of them went tumbling to the grass. Despite Sam's brand new job (and the not-so-stellar starting salary), he didn't seem upset about getting his new suit grass stained. (And Lucifer's own track jacket had been stained way worse than this in the past.) Lucifer was laughing as he put his hands in front of his face, blocking the punch that didn't come.

Sam raised a fist and grinned down at the smaller boy, digging a knee into his shoulder. "Pinned ya."

Lucifer struggled, but Sam had him pretty good. It wasn't until Dean said, "We're all still sitting here," that Sam turned a different shade of red and removed himself from the older boy. He started scrambling to get off the older boy, but Dean just kept talking. "When's Jess getting to Kansas? You pretty much made her plan the whole wedding by herself… it'd be a shame for her to miss all her hard work."

Lucifer sat up easily, took Sam's hand, and allowed the taller man to pull him to his feet, but they were pointedly not looking at each other and stopped touching the second they were both stable on their feet. Sam was still red and he pushed his hands into his pockets, mumbling, "She had to take one more class to finish up her degree, Dean. She'll be here in July."

"Cutting it kinda close, isn't she?" Dean asked. "The wedding's the first of August."

Sam's embarrassment was hinted with a spark of anger. Either way, I guess that solved the mystery of whether or not Sam would be showing up.

A few moments later, a rather ruffled looking Castiel joined the group, wearing the same jacket as the twins, but with his own name sewed over the breast, and a black t-shirt with the angel banishment symbol over the front of it. It lined up perfectly with his scars. Nobody said anything about it, though – he always wore it when he was at his least comfortable, something he did to remind himself he'd lived through worse – and he bounced Byron against his hip.

Michael stood with an excited noise, reaching out to his nephew. Byron hid his head in Castiel's neck, despite the fact that he saw Michael a few times a month. Charlie laughed at the display. Dean was finishing off the last of the food on his disposable tray.

Castiel lowered his head to whisper in his nephew's ear, and after a few seconds, Byron turned his blue eyes to his other uncle and held out a hand. "Hew-o Uncool Mickey." But he must have caught sight of the man hiding behind his uncle, because he withdrew himself from hiding in Castiel, looking around to wave and shout, "Dean!"

Dean wiped off his hands on his khakis and stood, grinning. He reached out to the child, exclaiming, "Little man!" Bryon opened his arms to him instantly, nearly throwing himself into Dean's arms. Castiel gave a small smile, passing his nephew to the teacher. Dean took him and bounced him in his arms.

"Aren't you going to be up on stage with Lucifer, Cas?" Dean asked, but he was looking at Byron. "I can watch the little guy for you."

Castiel nodded, reaching out a hand to place over Dean's right shoulder. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean turned back to the shorter man and nodded, offering a smile.

"So should we set up now?" Lucifer was leaning over the table, picking up banana Michael hadn't gotten around to eating yet. Michael didn't fight the food snatching. Charlie and Dean (and Byron) left to go back to their classrooms – they'd be bringing the kids down in a couple of minutes when the assembly started – and the rest of us banded together to set everything up.

It didn't take long. There already were three acoustic guitars on stage – Sam complained about the quality, but Lucifer said they didn't need expensive equipment to sound good – but Castiel agreed with Sam when the stand-up piano wasn't even in tune. They tuned their instruments – Michael was doing something to the drum set – and when the kids started filing into the auditorium, I left the stage.

Dean brought his class down early so he could sit in the front, and he waved me over. Byron was his father's son, and he kept chatting animatedly to the girls in Dean's senior class. The girl sitting on the other side of Dean was a cute girl with curly brown hair who reminded me of Lisa Braeden. Byron stood on Dean's lap with his arms wrapped around the man's shoulders, acting like he was shy as he talked to the girl. Byron's tiny fingers fisted into Dean's sweater as he talked on and on about his family.

"My uncools are up there," Byron leaned closer to Dean. "Woocee and Cassie and Mickey, right Dean? They my uncools."

Dean nodded to the affirmative, and the girl's eyes left Byron to smile at Dean in a way that only girls without kids can give to attractive men holding children, like something in their brain chemistry suddenly switched and seeing an infant reset something in their biology that made their prime directive obtaining a baby _now_.

Byron tilted his head to the side in a way that seemed far more Castiel than Balthazar and asked, "Do you know Dean?"

"Yes," the girl said, eyes wide and motherly. "He's my teacher."

Byron turned on Dean and put a hand over his cheek. "You her teacher?" Byron turned back to the girl. "Dean teach you cars? Dean teach me cars. Big ones like my daddy and Uncool Woocee have. They old, right, Dean?"

Dean seemed to be beaming with pride as he nodded again. The girl shook her head though, "Mr. Winchester – um, _Dean_ – he teaches me about books. Do you like books?"

"I know books!" Byron's hand left Dean and reached toward her. He wouldn't leave the safety of the lap, but the girl offered her hand and Byron wrapped his around her fingers. "Cassie read to me all the time. I like Prosciutto e Uova Verdi. You like that?" The girl shot a confused look at Dean. The teacher ran his fingers through the boy's hair and shrugged. "Do you know that one?"

The girl shook her head, but it didn't faze Byron at all. "I know my ABCs cause Cassie teach me. You teach her ABCs like Cassie teach me? You know ABCs?"

It ended up with a sing-a-long between the toddler and Dean's senior English class. They got the attention of most of the auditorium. Byron stood on Dean's lap, singing along with the teacher and his students. I didn't sing; instead, I watched Byron's uncles finishing their set up on stage. Lucifer shot a look at Michael, twin grins gracing their faces, but Castiel looked down at his nephew with something warmer, something like astonishment and pride and love all wrapped up into one. At the end of the song, Dean looked onstage and offered a wink.

Castiel clapped along with everyone else in the auditorium.

"How are we supposed to top that, Byron?" Lucifer asked into the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, that round of the Alphabet song was led by nephew Byron Novak. I am Lucifer Novak, an alum of this school, and with me today is my twin brother Michael Novak – who I'm sure you know – and my younger brother Castiel. Somewhere backstage is Sam Winchester, but we'll leave him be unless a need arises."

Next to me, Dean snorted.

"So how do you want to do this, Mickey?" Lucifer asked, turning to the drum set.

Long story short, it started with a song. For a while, Lucifer talked about his time in California at college – his struggles with schizophrenia and the loss of their mom and everything that happened with their dad and how music (and his meds) helped him through everything – and he even talked a bit about moving back to Kansas to teach at KU, urging the students to apply there so he could make real musicians out of them. (The joke there being that Michael couldn't teach them properly. I remembered a time when Michael was so full of rage he'd have attacked Lucifer for a comment like that. Instead he just rolled his eyes when his students laughed.)

The pair of them played a few more songs – took some requests – and called it a day.

But depending on which subplot you're more interested in determines what was important during the presentation. If you're wondering about Michael and Lucifer and whether or not they get along now, then you would be the most interested to know about their easiness on stage together – how it was a practiced thing – how Lucifer was doing a summer run at Broadway before his classes at KU started up and Michael was going with him.

They'd be gone, alone together for almost a month. They'd be leaving next week when high school ended.

But maybe you're more interested in Sam. Lucifer couldn't resist asking for requests – even though it added unnecessary stress to Castiel, who hated turning people down because he didn't know a song – and when he caught on the kids were asking for the love songs he used to sing with Sam back in college, he brought the younger boy out on stage.

Sam's voice and ability to harmonize had blossomed like his height under Lucifer's careful guidance all those years ago. He could play the guitar now – another side-effect of hanging around Lucifer for too long – and there was something undeniably beautiful watching the pair of them up there, a stage apart, singing together. They were professionals – well, Lucifer was literally a professional in the profession, but Sam was a lawyer and could make anything seem dry and platonic and not awkward – but the most beautiful moments were when they slipped. It was never more than a refrain – once a chorus – but when the emotion started pouring through and they would spare a glance at the other, it really was like the world made sense.

And while all of this stuff is good to know, if I had to guess, you're more interested in Dean and Castiel.

It was near the end of assembly when I noticed that Dean was whispering in Byron's ear. When Lucifer asked for one more song, the tiny boy stood on Dean's lap and raised his hand as high as it could go. It didn't matter he was one hand in a sea of hands, because he was related to the band and they played favorites.

"Alright, Byron. What do you want us to play for you?"

"Cassie sing Ho Hey," Byron settled back down on Dean's lap and dropped his hands. Unless I was very much mistaken, Lucifer's eyes shifted just a fraction to look past his nephew to the man who was holding him. Lucifer turned to look at his brother.

Castiel looked exhausted. He wasn't bad if he was playing in his house – or in the house of one of his brothers – but playing in front of a crowd drained him. It made him nervous. He had been a shy boy turned silent by circumstance – a man still living in fear of his addiction and mental health and side effects – but he licked his lips and nodded, looking past Byron and agreeing to sing the song.

It took almost no time for Michael to give Lucifer a mandolin – the man had studied nearly every string instrument as part of his undergrad and Michael had prepared the entire arsenal – and Sam found a tambourine back stage. Castiel moved forward, looking more frightened when he was front and center. Sam touched his shoulder, and Lucifer slid his guitar to his younger brother.

Words were exchanged and Castiel nodded, sparing another glace toward where Byron, Dean, and I were sitting before he looked at Sam and nodded. Half a second after Castiel started with the guitar, Sam started with the tambourine and Lucifer and Sam started a chorus of _Ho… Hey…_

" _I've been trying to do it right. I've been living a lonely life. I've been sleeping here instead; I've been sleeping in my bed… sleeping in my bed."_

Michael added a base beat along with Sam's tambourine hits, but the younger Winchester and Lucifer were already stomping in time to the music.

" _So show me family… All the blood that I will bleed. I don't know where I belong. I don't know where I went wrong, but I can write a song."_

Lucifer turned and said, "Two, three…"

And Castiel, Lucifer, and Sam sang the chorus. It didn't escape me that Castiel shut his eyes, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, while Sam and Lucifer's eyes were drawn to each other like magnets.

" _I belong with you. You belong with me. You're my sweetheart."_

It also didn't escape me that Byron was clapping along and singing, and Dean's eyes were bright and wide and focused on the stage, his nose pressed in the young boy's hair trying to hide his smile. I couldn't hear anything from Dean, but his mouth moved with the music.

If you had told Dean ten years ago that he would be into stomp-and-clap, front-porch folk music – even if it was just one song – he would have laughed in your face. That being said, when the song ended, he lifted Byron onto his shoulders as he stood, the pair of them clapping the loudest of everyone in the auditorium.

Castiel dug the palm of his hands into his eyes for a second after the song ended. He drew them away quickly with a sharp intake of breath. Lucifer ran his fingers through his younger brother's hair, messing it up in an affectionate way that only a big brother can, and Castiel handed him back the guitar, walking back to his piano in silence. He kept his hands in his lap and kept his eyes on his piano while Lucifer answered a few questions, keeping one eye on his brother the whole time.

The kids were polite – I have seen Q&As with Lucifer when the topic went instantly to the scars on Lucifer's wrists and Castiel's struggles with drugs – but the only topic that could have been remotely loaded was when a sixteen-year-old girl asked about Lucifer's tattoo.

Lucifer only fumbled a little bit around his answer – Sam turned vaguely red and tugged at his sleeves before crossing his arms in front of him – and that was the end of that.

When the questions were over, the brothers received a rather large round of applause and the children started making their way back to their classes. Dean took Byron off his shoulders and said, "Tell Cas to come get the kid in my room, alright?" before he walked off with his students.

I walked to the stage, where Lucifer and Sam were putting instruments back and Michael was whispering to Castiel. It wasn't a secret that Lucifer had wanted to start a band – they had the talent for it, and the numbers if he could just get Gabriel to sign on – but Castiel really couldn't handle it. He had gotten better, he really had, but he needed an insane level of stability to keep him from having an anxiety attack and life on the road couldn't offer that.

Lucifer would never ask that of Castiel. Even though Sam knew the piano and guitar well enough to join in, his dream was law. And Lucifer would never ask that of Sam either.

So instead, he agreed to do Broadway during the summer and teach at KU for the other three seasons. If one person was selling himself short to stay around his family, it was Lucifer.

But I don't think he minded all that much.

When I reached the landing, Sam was talking to Castiel, and Lucifer rushed me like a defensive lineman, grabbing my arms and giving me a practiced look of worry and concern. After all, he had a degree in theatre performance as well as one in vocal performance. And one in film production.

"Listen, can I please borrow your car? I told Sam's boss I'd get him back within the hour and he's already three minutes late. It's going to take Cas forever to go get Byron, but he won't mind dropping you off. Please?"

Lucifer had given me a lot. Maybe not literal, material things, but he had helped to bring me into this wild story. He sat down with me whenever I needed to him and bared his heart and soul and secret sins and never batted an eyelash. I reached into my pocket and hoped my junker would get him there with speed.

After he and Sam rushed off, Michael assured Castiel and I that he could get the rest of the instruments back to the orchestra room. He had a bunch of slaves… er… students to help him out. The hug Michael gave Castiel was one of two people who hadn't seen each other for a long time, but I knew that wasn't the case. The five youngest siblings still lived in Lawrence and saw each other all the time. Even Zachariah, Uriel, and Rafi showed up three or four times a year from where they had settled their families and occupations.

Once Michael left, I stood in front of Castiel to ask him for a ride home. It was hard for me to see him like this – and believe me, I had seen him at worse – but he looked small and defeated when he got focused on the past. He looked up at me through his eyelashes and offered a weak smile.

"You're going to say what my brothers already said, aren't you? That song is supposed to be hopeful. That it's full of love. That I'm happy now and I shouldn't worry about what I did because I've been forgiven by everyone. But I shouldn't have needed everyone's forgiveness. I should have been stronger than to…" Castiel licked his lips and looked down.

"It's been ten years, Cas. You can't let this control your life, anymore. You have to forgive yourself."

"That's what they say, but I don't deserve it," Castiel shrugged. "I'm trying; I really am. I'm an adjunct professor – basically so I can get my PhD for free from KU – and I'm a nanny as my primary means of employment. And I would watch Byron for free if Balthazar would let me. Lucifer's case is clinically so much more severe than mine. The drugs he's on… but I can't even sing a song that brings me great joy in front of four hundred teenagers without feeling like… I can't do anything."

Castiel stood, trying to drop the conversation as he started leading me to Dean's classroom. I tried to think of something to comfort the man – my _friend_ – but words were hard and they were never enough. When we were standing outside the English wing on the third floor, just outside Dean's classroom, I gripped the taller man's arm. He turned with a curious expression – we had never touched before – and I dropped my hand instantly away from him; instead, my hands started wrapping around the bottom of my shirt.

"Byron thinks the world of you. I don't think he could love you more if you were his real father."

I'm not very good at saying the right thing, but this must have been a rare exception by the way the man in front of me lit up. In the past few years – since Byron was in the womb anyway – Castiel hadn't been shy about the idea of wanting to raise a child of his own. (Of course, he had a lot of extreme parameters. He wanted to be married. He didn't want the kid to be his biologically – he was too afraid of passing on his disorder and a predisposition of an addictive personality. He seemed to be about at least half way to a rugrat of his own by my calculations.) And this was a praise that he could accept.

So when he knocked on Dean's door and walked through the open walkway with the compliment rocking through his demeanor – he seemed confident and easy – the teacher stood up taller behind his desk. Dean's mouth opened very slowly, his hands buried themselves in the pockets of his khakis and he rocked forward, licking his lips and shutting his mouth. Castiel offered a smile, a breath of, "Hello Dean," and the students were silenced by the display.

"Hey Cas," Dean rocked forward a little bit – probably subconsciously – into Castiel's personal space. "That was a great job you did with that song."

Castiel only turned vaguely pink around the tips of his ears, his hands folding together behind his back. "Thank you, Dean. And thank you for watching him."

Byron was sitting on Dean's desk, drawing with red pen on the backs of some papers that looked suspiciously like theses. He looked up at his uncle and grinned, "Dean let me grade."

"Are you grading fairly?" Castiel asked, opening his arms. The child abandoned the pen and stood, going instantly to his uncle.

"Of course!"

"What merits are you grading them by? Grammar? Creativity? Are you using a rubric?" Castiel teased.

"No, Cassie! I use a pen."

The students giggled, and Byron lowered his head to Castiel's shoulder. It was past his naptime, anyway. Castiel turned to Dean – likely to thank him again – when a hand rose slowly at the back of the classroom. The girl asked, "Mr. Winchester?" and Dean's eyes shot quickly from the man in front of him to his student, almost like he had forgotten they were there. Castiel turned around just as quickly – both men looking at the girl with curiosity.

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

"Is that your son?"

Dean shot another look at the back of Castiel's head, before turning back to the girl and shaking his head. It was probably a reasonable question to ask. He did have a picture of Byron hanging up next to his desk. "No, no, no. No kids. Not yet," he rubbed the back of his neck, growing pinkish himself. "We're… uh… we're getting there, though."

"Byron is my brother's son," Castiel explained.

"Cas is Byron's manny," Dean grinned and upon receiving a confused look, he clarified with, "Man-nanny."

The students laughed, but there was a squeal behind me in the hall that was accompanied a second later by an iron-clad grip on my arm that was tugging me backwards. I didn't need to look behind me to know who it was. Becky tugged me behind her so she could peek into Dean's classroom. I turned to look at her ninth grade room. Most of the kids were still at their desks, but at least a quarter of the girls were at the door, looking out after their teacher.

"Becky, don't you have a…" I started.

"Shh!" she cut me off, waving her hand at me. I grabbed her arm and started pulling her away from the room. She let forth an angry sound and poked me in the chest with her free arm. "You can't just bring Castiel up to see Dean without telling me," she growled. "They never tell me _anything_ about when Sam comes to visit, but I expected better from you."

"I'm not your messenger boy," I hissed back, nearly carrying her back to her own classroom. "I told you that from the beginning. I'm not spying on them for you." The girls in the doorway ran back to their seats as I pushed at Becky's back lightly. She pouted once she was inside.

"If you just let me read your book – just one chapter – I would totally just leave them alone," Becky crossed her arms, and I looked at twenty pairs of expectant eyes and couldn't believe she would talk about this in front of a bunch of fourteen year olds.

No wait. I could. I really really could.

I shot a look into the hall behind me. Both men were in the hallway: Castiel was holding Byron, but he was standing a foot or so away from Dean – the teacher had his back to the class, his hand on the door which was halfway closed behind him – and I turned back to see Becky trying to peek around me from inside her class. I put my hands on her shoulders and turned her around, and walked her to her desk.

"Miss Rosen, don't you have a class to teach?"

"Let me read a chapter," she countered.

I sat her down in her chair. "I told you I'd let you proof it for me before I handed it in."

She seemed to think about that for a moment when suddenly there was a loud cheer from across the hall. Becky looked completely horrified, and a second later, Castiel popped his head into the doorway and nodded for me to come on. Byron was grinning from ear to ear around the thumb stuck in between his lips and Castiel's neck was scarlet. I started walking away, throwing a, "See you later," over my shoulder to Becky who was making a series of dying whale noises.

As I shut the door, I heard a girl trying to comfort her teacher.

By the time we got to Castiel's car, Byron had fallen asleep and Castiel's blush had died down. He drove in silence to the apartment I shared with Gabriel, but Castiel was smiling and comfortable, and it was nice to see him combat his troubles. Castiel had had some serious rough patches over the past ten years, but his family had always been pretty good at helping him through it. I was starting to wonder if I qualified as family.

I kind of think I did. So I pressed my luck.

"So what did the kids cheer for?" I asked.

Castiel's blush returned full force and he started stammering for half a second before he opted for another tactic. He frowned, his voice dropped to a growl and he said, "Get out of my car."

I was worried for a second that I had broken it – whatever it was that I was becoming to the men – and I scrambled out of the car. I wasn't even halfway to the front steps when Castiel lowered the passenger window and yelled out, "We're still on for coffee on Sunday, right?"

I nodded, sighed my relief, and ran to my room, opened my laptop, and started writing before I would forget it all.

* * *

 

It had been two weeks since Lucifer and Castiel had been transferred to Grace, and everyone had started falling into a predictable schedule. They weren't in the same group – an attempt to split up their codependency a little bit – but Castiel still wouldn't talk and wasn't much for group at all. He was still without a diagnosis, primarily because he wouldn't speak to doctors, but that wasn't going to last much longer.

The only time he made a sound was when he screamed at the sight of his hallucinations. He would hide behind anything – Lucifer, Pamela, a couch if nobody else was around – and he'd place his thumb to his chin, spreading his fingers wide as he whimpered. It took two days to realize he was signing the word _mom_ – it was the first bit of communication he'd had at all – and there was talk of him starting on a lower dose of Thorazine soon. They were hesitant to prescribe him anything, though, because his obvious dependency on a variety of drugs in the past. He started on the slippery slope with a prescription for Xanax, after all.

Sam would show up after both boys were done with group – and Sam was done with his baseball practice – and even though he was technically only signed in to see Lucifer (because Castiel wasn't supposed to have visitors), both of the Novaks enjoyed listening to how terrible he was at batting and how Benny was helping him get better.

But it was on the two week mark to the day that something had changed. Sam noticed that the Thorazine made Lucifer drowsy and once he started getting feeling back in his left hand, he had developed a twitch. It was a side effect of the Thorazine. Even though Lucifer's hand wasn't nearly strong enough to push the strings down on the guitar, the doctor had finally allowed Sam to bring it, hoping that seeing the instrument would give Lucifer something to strive for.

When Sam walked into Grace that day with the guitar case heavy in his hand, he heard the screaming from the dayroom. Nobody was at the front desk – he signed in quickly – and followed the screams. He recognized them, and Sam's heart beat heavy in his chest as he entered the room. Castiel was in the corner near Sam, curled up and rocking with his hands over his eyes. Pamela and two orderlies were trying to keep Lucifer from hurting himself, but the boy was screaming bloody murder and thrashing with a degree of insanity that Sam hadn't seen on him ever.

And Sam had seen him pretty messed up.

"He's fucking in there, okay?" Lucifer screamed, eyes wide, searching for the people trying to hold him back. "He's fucking laughing at me and it's not working. Tell Fuller. Go tell Fuller right now. The Thorazine isn't working. Tell him. Tell him. Oh, God, why?"

One of the orderlies managed to get a needle in him, and Lucifer slumped forward after a second. Behind his boyfriend, Sam could see a mirror had been punched out. Shards of glass were covered in blood, and when the orderlies pulled Lucifer back to his feet, Sam saw that the knuckles on his right hand were bleeding.

They pulled him from the room before Sam was able to say anything – to yell out and scream something of comfort to his boyfriend – but the second his drugged body left the room, Sam sat the guitar case down, grabbing onto a nearby table to support himself. His knees were shaking, completely unsure what to do and how to help. He lowered himself to the floor, taking a few quick, short breaths, as his eyes slid shut and he tried to clear his head.

He jumped when the hand clasped his shoulder tight and drew him backwards.

Sam turned in time to see Castiel's chest getting larger and larger. His arms drew around Sam, but then the younger boy's head made contact with Castiel's chest. Castiel whined and gave some slack in his arms so Sam wasn't pressed against his scabs. He was shaking, trembling like a fault line with too much pressure built up, and Sam gripped him tight and held on.

Neither of them cried, but they seemed to cling to each other for dear life.

The long moment ended when Castiel ran his hand down Sam's spine – a gesture that might have been intimate if another boy had done it, but to Sam just felt like comfort – and he pulled back. Castiel reached up to the table to grab a notebook.

Sam watched as he flipped through it. Castiel hadn't been talking – hadn't spoken to anyone in two weeks – but he never thought that he could still be communicating. The first half of the notebook was already filled with Castiel's neat script – then another person's handwriting answering him back – but when they got to the middle, Sam noticed that a third person's handwriting was added.

Lucifer's.

At first it looked like gibberish, but Castiel gestured to the guitar. When Sam tilted his head, he noticed that there were six lines going down and other lines going across. Strings and frets. The first one was labeled "G" but there were tons of other notes written across the page.

Castiel reached back up for a pen and wrote _He can't play yet. He was trying to teach me with a broom. Why don't you try?_

Even though Sam had given the guitar to Lucifer, the older boy hadn't really spent a lot of time trying to teach him anything. The thought of playing with it – _messing_ with it – without Lucifer's explicit permission felt wrong. But Castiel reached for the case and popped the silver buckles. He nodded toward the instrument, and Sam lifted it up.

Sam also lifted the other thing up he had tucked inside the case. It was Lucifer's teddy bear – the one Sam had packed when he had been kicked out of his house – that he found when he went back to the Church to clean and found someone had already done it. He held the bear out to Castiel with a silent question to pass it along. The younger Novak nodded, holding it to his chest while he nodded again toward the guitar.

The two of them played until there were angry red lines on their fingers, but neither of them could make one note sound as good as Lucifer could.

* * *

 

Crowley's eyes shot open, his abdominal muscles jacked him to a sitting position, and he took a deep, sharp intake of breath. For a moment, he couldn't shake the dream – couldn't shake the feeling of drowning – but when his eyes swam into focus again, he realized that his head was pounding and his stomach was empty.

He hadn't used.

He drew his hands to his face and shoved the heel of his hands into his eyes.

It had been five days – his longest stretch clean since he took Castiel to meet his family – and even though he'd started off rough, he tried thinking that the worse of the withdrawal was over now. He was five days in. He could make it six. He could get clean and then they'd let him see Castiel.

That first day Crowley found out, he ran to Grace. It was a ways away, but he'd been high and worried and he just ran there. He didn't feel pain because of the Oxys, but when he barged through the front door and demanded to see Castiel, the nurse took one look at him and laughed.

Actually fucking laughed.

"You're the dealer?" She asked, still giggling. She lowered her eyes back to the computer. "Yeah, right. Not happening."

"Why not?" Crowley had demanded.

"Because you're a junkie, sunshine. That angel in there doesn't need you messing up his life anymore. Get yourself clean, then we'll talk."

But Crowley had had some false starts.

He had to get clean for Castiel, but it was infinitely harder staying clean when he knew where the drugs were and he had nobody to lean on. So Crowley went to his mum. The two of them had always been close: Crowley would sit with her when she was rough and she took a liking to Castiel from the moment she saw him play the piano. Sometimes, Crowley was jealous of their closeness. After Castiel got over the fact that she was the bringer of bad news, he responded to her like she was kin. Which they were – Anna had been Crowley's mom's best friend all through school – but they were kin in more than just that way.

Crowley drew his hands away from his eyes and turned to look at the other form on the bed. Whereas Crowley had passed out completely clothed and on top of the blankets when he was supposed to be watching her, his mother was under the blankets, head pressed against the pillow with a smile on her face that could only mean one thing.

Crowley looked past her. A candle had burnt itself out on the nightstand – she hadn't even bothered to try and hide the spoon and needle.

The boy stood on shaking legs and walked out of his mother's bedroom.

She'd gone four days. Four fucking days. That was the longest she'd gone since Crowley met Dick Roman and started keeping a supply in his bedroom so she didn't have to go out and put herself in a dangerous place for it. Crowley had been fifteen then. And four days had been the longest his mom had been sober in three fucking years.

And Crowley messed it up by falling asleep.

Aziraphale was lying down just outside the door, and he raised his head to look at his master. But Crowley couldn't deal with it – his dog's silent judgments, his mother slipping _again_ – and he drew his hand back and threw it forward, tears stinging his eyes. He was choking on his breath in his throat and the drywall gave away easily. He was lucky to have missed the stud but he didn't really care. Four days gone. He'd have to start again tonight. His dog stood, whined in a sympathy pain, and nuzzled his nose against the hand when Crowley dropped it back to his side.

He remembered this rage with Castiel, how the pain of seeing him suffering caused Crowley to break and start over time after time. Crowley remembered being hit by him, hitting him back, before they'd fall together with the drug and breathe the same air. At least he didn't punch his mom. At least he didn't break and fall with her.

Crowley descended the stairs to his bedroom. This wasn't an option anymore. He grabbed baggies of cocaine – balloons of heroin and cigarette packs filled with joints – dozens of prescription bottles filled with pills. He sat them all out on his bed. He left nothing hidden, nothing for an emergency.

Anthony J. Crowley had been on varying degrees of drugs semi-regularly since he was thirteen years old. And before him was thousands of dollars of what he had to show for his addictions. But he had one addiction that was more powerful than all of that. One thing he would give up anything for. One thing he knew – he really fucking knew – he could never have, but he would try to make himself better for. He would show up, clean, and plead his case.

He had to stay clean for Castiel.

And that meant he had to get his mom clean, too.

Crowley dialed a number and placed his phone between his shoulder and his ear before he grabbed the silver briefcase he always used to make drops with Roman. He filled the case with drugs and shut it at the same time the man on the other side of the phone answered with an annoyed, "What?"

"I want to sell back. I'm getting out of the game."

"What could you possibly have left?" Roman sighed.

But when he heard the offer, he agreed to buy it back for cheap. Crowley didn't owe him anything – he always paid the supplier upfront – and despite the low price, Crowley was still going to make a ton of money from the deal from the quantity alone.

He didn't change his clothes as he walked out the door and toward the Starbucks down the street. He was just getting clean – he'd work on his appearance tomorrow.

* * *

 

Sam opened the door to his house, but he was sluggish at best. He dropped his backpack and his gym bag down on the floor before he kicked off his shoes and joined his older brother on the couch. Dean closed a notebook and placed it on the table, turning to grin at the boy. The older Winchester was happy despite the fact that it had been three weeks since he'd seen Castiel. He texted Fuller semi-frequently, but they were holding off with visits still.

Dean wasn't sure if it was because of Castiel and his very-recent diagnosis or if it was because he wasn't sure what he would do if he would see the boy. Breaking out crying in a mental institution wasn't exactly the first impression he wanted to make.

But he wasn't sure what impression he did want to make. That was half the problem.

"How was practice?" Dean asked, and Sam shot him a dirty look.

"Benny is a slave driver, Dean. My arms feel like Jell-o and my legs feel like they're going to fall off. Plus, I've got all of Castiel's books in my backpack because Lucifer won't do any of his stupid homework and I think if Castiel does his, Lucifer will stop being a jackass and get on with the program. Both of them are still a wreck. Lucifer doesn't see a point in graduating this year, since he still can't really move his left hand at all. Castiel's new meds dulls him down so much that he barely even pays attention to anything anymore. And on top of taking care of two Novaks, I've got to do my own homework _and_ run after balls and hit balls and chase balls for two hours every day after school," Sam sighed. "I'm just exhausted."

Dean took it all in and was quiet for a moment. Then a grin broke out on his face and he said, "Well, you do seem to like balls."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Oh, shut up, you jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam turned to look at Dean and smiled. They shared a comfortable moment of silence, before the younger Winchester nodded at the notebook, "Homework from school or Fuller?"

"Fuller," Dean grabbed the spiral-bound notebook and drew it to his chest. It had been a while since Sam had tried to grab it and read it, but he was still over-paranoid about it. "But I did just finish my English homework. We had to read a bunch of Shakespeare's Sonnets. We have to pick one to memorize and say in front of the class."

"What'd you pick?"

"Sonnet 20," Dean cleared his throat and opened it to the last page in the notebook that he had written in. It was at least halfway full with journal entries and printed pictures glued to the pages and doodles all centered around Castiel. Dean met with Dr. Fuller twice a week – technically to discuss Castiel – but Sam had to bet that the doctor was giving Dean free advice considering the assignments. "It has this awesome line about bright eyes and I thought…"

"Of Cas," Sam rolled his eyes, secretly delighting in the way Dean's face started to burn. "Yeah, Dean, I get that you forgive him but don't you think you should tell him yourself. Your big epic love story isn't going to go anywhere if you just sit on your ass and compare him to Shakespeare's boys."

"I… um…" Dean's fingers traced over a line in the poem. "It's not like that, Sam. Forgiving him and wanting him right back in my bed. I want him to get better. I'd do anything for him to get better. He needs space to do that. He can't get clean for me or he won't stay clean. He needs to figure out himself first."

"So you're going to come with me to see him, right?"

"Jesus, Sam," Dean shut the notebook again. He stood, shoving a bunch of his stuff under his arms and walked toward the stairs. Dean didn't always stomp off like a moody teenager anymore, but when he did, it was because Sam pushed him too hard. "He won't even want to see me. I already fucked this whole thing up when he did something to help us and I couldn't see past the mistake. I let him get really bad. He almost died because of me. I just want to help him get better. I want to give him space and time and everything he needs. I am not good for him."

"Dean…"

"Just… it's fine, Sam, okay?" Dean walked up to his room, trying hard not to slam his feet down. Sam doubted he was mad at him, but Dean needed his space. Once his door opened, he yelled down, "Oh, Sammy! I forgot to mention that you got a big envelope from Stanford today. It's on the dining room table next to the MacBook."

Dean's door slammed, and Sam stood on shaking legs to fetch his mail.

He got mail from a lot of different colleges, even though he was only a freshman. His classes were packed so tightly, he'd be able to graduate a year early with all the needed credits, but he figured he'd stay in school anyway so he could graduate with his friends and take a bunch of AP courses and get college credit.

Then maybe he'd graduate from his undergrad early, which would get him into law school early.

He brought the big envelope back to the couch and opened it without really looking at it. He expected it to be a magazine telling him why Stanford was a good option for him – Sam already _knew_ it was the best option – but when he took out the contents of the envelope, there was a CD in a jewel case inside. It was unmarked, so Sam left it for a second before jumping into the first paragraph on the letter.

_Congratulations! I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the music program at Stanford University._

Wait, what?

Sam reread the beginning of the letter twice, before he even remembered that he hadn't applied to Stanford yet, and even if he did, he wouldn't be going for music. It was only then that Sam decided to check and see if this was even meant for him or if he'd just committed a federal offence and opened his neighbor's mail by mistake.

The address on the envelope was correct, but it was addressed to Lucifer Novak.

Sam turned back to the letter and kept reading.

_The department found your digital application refreshing and lively. We made a copy of it to put on the student website – with your permission, of course – and we are excited to discuss your options in the field at your earliest convenience._

This didn't sound like a real acceptance letter – they sounded too friendly, too… unprofessional – but Sam looked it over and it seemed legit. When he held it up to the light, Stanford's logo was a watermark on the paper. And Sam felt his heart beating against his ribcage. Lucifer got into Stanford. They could go to college together… well, after three more years of high school for Sam, but still. They would have so much fun in California together.

But three years was a long time to wait.

The other papers included were deposits to hold his room – room selection, a meal plan selection, a list of costs and potential grants and scholarships – and Sam put it all back in the envelope. He'd be going over Grace in half an hour when his dad got out of the shop and could drive him over, but his fingers hesitated when he reached the CD. He couldn't help himself.

Sam got back up to get the MacBook, but this time, his legs didn't hurt as much. He popped the CD in and admired the auto-run screen.

There was a picture of Lucifer sitting in the tower of the Church with the guitar Sam gave him resting on his lap, but he was looking out the window and down with a giant grin on his face. Sam recognized it as one of the many times Sam had snapped a picture of him when the boy wasn't looking. Lucifer had demanded Sam send him the picture back in January.

At the top of the screen was Stanford's logo, and at the side there were a number of screens he could choose from including an unofficial academic transcript, video letters of recommendation, and a video letter of intent. Sam clicked instead on the screen labeled Portfolio.

It took him to another screen. This one had a background of Lucifer and Castiel at Thanksgiving while Lucifer played the violin and Castiel was playing piano. There were a number of songs he could choose from, but Sam just chose the first.

It was Taylor Swift's Our Song.

Sam had never heard Lucifer play it before, but the video started split, with Lucifer on the left playing guitar and Lucifer on the right playing the violin. As the song went on, another Lucifer popped up to sing. Even though Sam didn't know Lucifer even _knew_ this song, his heart started beating heavy in his chest when his boyfriend (but not boyfriend at the time it was filmed) sang, _"Our song is the slam of screen doors, sneaking out late tapping on your window. We're on the phone and you talk real slow, cause it's late, and your brother don't know."_

All those hours after school in Ms. Bradbury's room must have resulted in this. She must have taught him how to film it and splice it together. Sam clicked on another song, where he and Lucifer were the screen capture. Sure, he remembered when Castiel had recorded them singing it, but he couldn't believe… he would have never thought in a million years Lucifer would use it for a college application.

Sam went back and clicked on the letter of intent.

Lucifer was on screen. He gave a small smile at the camera before he started in on his speech.

"My name is Lucifer Novak, and I was born into a huge, religious family," he picked up a picture that had all nine Novaks in it. It was a couple of years old. "My dad had a pretty successful job when we were younger, and we never really wanted for anything. But around the time I was fourteen, my mom was hospitalized after an attempt to kill herself." He pointed Anna out on the photograph. "She was diagnosed with schizophrenia and had been in and out of mental hospitals ever since. Then, when I was sixteen, I was hospitalized for the same reason." He changed pictures. This photo had a younger Lucifer in an all-white get-up that wasn't that much different from what he was probably wearing now. "I got the same diagnosis, but the drugs worked on me better than they did her and they let me out."

He changed pictures. This one just had the eight Novak children. "But then my dad just disappeared – we don't know if he left or if he's dead – and then, in September, my mom died. So it was just us kids."

Lucifer dropped all the pictures. "It seems kind of heavy stuff at the start of my senior year, but then I met this guy." Lucifer held up a picture of Sam. "He went to church with my family, and he'd been one of the only people in my life who didn't treat me like I was the devil – and you probably aren't surprised how often I'm treated like that with a name like mine – but for the first time, I realized I could be more than just a bully." He switched pictures. This one was of him and Michael. "But when my brother found out that I was in love with another guy, he kicked me out of the house and broke my arm for good measure." Lucifer ripped the photo down the middle separating the two boys.

"So now I live in this abandoned Church – well, not living, I guess, but squatting – and it's been hard as you might have guessed. I've never been good at anything. I've always been a jerk, but when Sam gave me a guitar for Christmas, I swear it was like I knew what I wanted to do with my life. I've only been playing for a month now, but I've enclosed everything I've learned in that month – plus some videos of me playing the violin and singing. I'd really like to join your music program, but I'm not exactly sure where I would fit in. I know this is supposed to be a letter of intent, and I'm being sort of wishy-washy, but I intend to go to Stanford. I intend to make something of my life, and I truly believe that this is my calling. I just still need some help getting there. Um… thank you for your consideration."

Sam stared at the screen. That was kind of a weak ending, if Sam had to admit, but he felt every word of it. Lucifer had always been great at portraying emotions, and even though Sam already felt for him, watching the boy stumble over words and try not to get upset as he talked about his family was… powerful. The admission committee must have been drawn in by his raw emotion.

Sam put the CD back in the jewel case and reread the acceptance letter. They wanted to discuss options with him. They would probably let him pick a major. Sam got all his stuff together and was outside waiting when John pulled up.

When he got to Grace, Lucifer and Castiel were sitting in the back corner of the day room. The older Novak was on Clozaril now. It was an extreme drug, but it didn't cause the foggy memory and tremors that the Thorazine did. However, it was prone to lowering white-blood cells, so Lucifer had to get his blood checked all the time to make sure he was even. So far, he hadn't had any negative side effects. His dose was low enough to not have a ton of dangers, but high enough to keep the hallucinations at bay. Castiel was just starting the Throazine and while he was working through the fog, he hadn't been hallucinating, either.

Castiel had the guitar on his lap. He was playing a few chords – he had improved tenfold since their attempt without a teacher last week – and Lucifer was nodding along, but his focus was on a book in his lap. Sam was nearly standing in front of them before they noticed he was there. Lucifer offered a wide grin when Sam approached, and Castiel cleared his throat and tried to whisper a greeting – he had been trying really hard to vocalize with the help of therapy – but the noise didn't leave his throat.

"Look at this book I found, Sam," Lucifer saved his place in the center and showed the younger boy the cover. It had a bunch of super heroes dressed in red with a boy in a yellow shirt on the cover.

"Medikidz Explain Depression?" Sam asked.

Lucifer opened it back up to the middle where he was reading the comic book about neurotransmitters and receptors. "They don't have Medikidz explain schizophrenia, so I figured this was close enough. I tried to get Castiel to read the HIV one but he's being a dick."

Castiel didn't even dignify him with a response; he wasn't going to be baited like that. Lucifer did it as a warning, like he was trying to remind his younger brother what could have happened to him. As if he could forget.

Sam offered Castiel a grin and offered Lucifer the envelope. "Sorry I opened it. It was from Stanford and addressed to my house so I assumed it was mine."

"What is it?" Lucifer whispered, but he already knew. "Did I get in?"

"See for yourself."

Sam expected Lucifer to jump up and cheer. He expected this to be motivation to graduate this year – they would excuse the absences due to health reasons if he made up the work he missed, especially if he left next week when his thirty days were up and went back to school – but his reaction surprised Sam.

He started crying.

And not like tears-of-joy crying, but full out, anguish-filled tears.

"I can't go to Stanford now. I don't even have control of my body parts. I can't play the guitar. I can't… I can't move my fingers more than just little twitches and… and…" Castiel took the paper from Lucifer and started reading it over. "They aren't going to want me anymore."

Castiel looked up at Sam and made a phone gesture with his thumb and pinky and Sam dug out his phone and handed it over without thinking. "But, Lucifer, you have to go! You'll get out of Kansas. You'll be free from all this bullshit."

"I'll be gone from you for three years."

"So what? We'll be together that forth year."

But both boys froze when they heard the ringing. Castiel placed the acceptance letter down and turned the phone on speaker. It rang three times before a woman's voice answered, "Stanford's Music Department. How may I help you?"

Lucifer and Sam looked at each other, but both remained silent.

"Hello," Castiel choked out, then cleared his throat. Lucifer's jaw dropped open – it was the first words he'd heard from his brother in three weeks – but Castiel was full of surprises. "I'm calling in regards to a letter of acceptance for Lucifer Novak."

"Lucifer Novak?" the woman exclaimed. "The digital application, right? Can I just say that the arrangement you created for _Teenage Dream_ was exceptionally beautiful? I'd never heard it sung with such love and devotion and that boy Sam is totally adorable. Have things worked out between you?"

"Um…" Lucifer squeaked. "Uh, yes."

"Oh, that's so wonderful, dear! Oh, but listen to me prattle on. Let me just get the chair of the department for you," the line went dead for a second and the three boys just looked at each other.

"You fucking talked, Castiel," Lucifer exclaimed. His brother turned red, but Lucifer just reached out and pulled him into an awkward hug with a table and a guitar between them. "I'm so proud of you."

"Hello, Lucifer?" A voice cut in – a man's voice – and they grew quiet again. "This is Stephen Sano – the department chair in the Music school. I see you got your acceptance letter. Usually, we don't agree to let people into the program who don't choose a specific field of study, but we found you impressive. Is it true you'd only been playing guitar for a month and a half at the time the recordings were made?"

"Yes," Lucifer breathed.

"Well, you are an impressive lad. We weren't sure which field you were interested in – you could be admitted under vocal performance or violin performance – you'd still be able to take guitar lessons with both fields. We also weren't sure if you were interested in music in regards to concert or theatre," the man took a breath. "Or video productions."

"Um…" Lucifer looked down. His bandages were removed, but the scars from this attempt were raised and purple. The coloring should drain out of the scar, but the checkered lines were the stitches wouldn't. "Listen, I need to be honest with you. I'm not doing so hot right now. I'm actually calling from the hospital – I… uh… tried to kill myself again – and I severed the tendons in my arm and I can't move my fingers hardly at all. The doctors say I should get my strength back but it could take six months or a year. I don't think I'll be playing any instruments any time soon. I might… I mean, if you're interested… I could defer for a year, if I could."

"Well that is certainly unfortunate. Are you alright?"

"I'm not dead," Lucifer admitted. "I feel better. They've got me on different meds now, and I like them better."

"We could defer you for a year if that's what you wish, but vocal performance wouldn't require the use of your hands until later in the program, other than typing papers. Besides, the school has a great physical therapy program and many of them team up with students in our department for music therapy. We could enroll you in a class like that, if you wish."

"Wait," Lucifer's head was spinning. "It doesn't bother you that I tried to off myself again and I can't play my guitar anymore? I thought that…"

"It bothers me insomuch as a clearly talented and intelligent youth such as yourself felt that it came to that. But music is such a field where many students suffer from mental illnesses. We try to embrace the music that keeps our students from seeking such an end, but it isn't unheard of for musicians to try to commit suicide, Lucifer," Professor Sano was serious. "We would like to work with you, if that's at all possible. Perhaps we can all work through it together."

"I would like that," Lucifer whispered.

"Great! We'll officially accept you under vocal performance, but after your first semester we can see where you're at and we can change some things if you wish," Professor Sano paused. "However, there was one more question I would like to ask; rather, two to be exact. Your brother – the pianist – and that partner of yours – Sam, was his name? – are they graduating this year? We didn't see their applications. Are they interested in pursuing a degree in music?"

The shade of red on Castiel and Sam's faces were priceless. "No, actually. A few more years to go."

"That's a shame, but please, when it comes time to search for colleges, you'll have to tell them to keep us in mind."

"Will do, professor. Will do."

* * *

 

Dean only worked at Bobby's shop three days a week anymore. John wasn't really a more skilled mechanic, but him having a fulltime job kept him preoccupied and he needed that more than Dean did. With the loads of free time Dean had, he did his homework. Lisa Braeden helped him with chemistry – which made a lot more since than it used to – and when Michael approached him during his lunch period to apologize, he ended up accepting the apology along with help on his algebra homework.

At the beginning of the year, Dean was completely convinced he was going to need to drop out of school so he could support him and Sam. In almost exactly two months, he would be walking across the stage and getting his diploma. His grades had never been better. Dean had never thought he was smart before.

Since Lucifer received his acceptance letter to Stanford three days ago, Sam had been hounding on Dean to apply at Kansas University. It wasn't far from their house, but it was expensive as hell. Sam said everyone had to get loans out and he could pay them back when he had a real job, but Dean was hesitant.

The only thing he ever figured he would do with his life was be a mechanic. He already had a job doing that – he didn't need some fancy degree to keep on working at Bobby's – but the idea was certainly interesting.

Dean had never thought of college as a real option before. But he was nineteen years old and had no idea what he wanted to do with his life.

So instead of thinking about hard decisions, he laid in the backseat of the Impala, reading _Divergent_ by Veronica Roth. He could hear Bobby and John fixing up an Oldsmobile twenty feet away, but it wasn't enough to completely distract him from his reading. Until, of course, they started talking about him.

"What about engineering?" John asked, and Dean felt like he was crawling in his skin. He hated math. Engineering was just a ton of math.

"I dunno," Bobby responded. "He hates math."

Thank God one of the men paid attention to him.

"Yeah, but he's getting better at it," John insisted. "Dean could do whatever he wanted if he set his mind to it. Engineers are smart guys. You can do anything with an engineering degree – design new cars or cell phones or whatever – he could even get a contract with the military like Tony Stark did."

Dean grinned, letting his book rest page-side down on his chest. His dad just compared him to a superhero. But Bobby just sighed, "Ain't nobody in real life who could make an Iron Man suit, you idjit."

"Yeah, cause nobody has the arc reactor thing, but Dean could invent that and look at all the power the world would save."

"Look, I'm not saying it to knock Dean, cause let me tell you… that boy is resourceful, smart as a whip, and kind as they come. But he can't be an engineer, John. He'd hate every second of it. I'm not saying he couldn't discover plutonium or whatever if that's what he wanted to do. But I don't think that's what he'd want to do," Bobby tried to start the engine but it turned over and died. "He's gotta do something he's passionate about and he loves doing if he's gonna do anything at all."

The men fell silent as they started working on the car once more, but Dean couldn't go back to his book. They knew he was hiding out in the Impala, but they hadn't heard from him in over an hour and probably figured he was so deep into the plot he couldn't hear him or asleep. He'd get out in a few minutes and his hair and clothes would be a mess and they'd never think he heard them.

Bobby was right. Dean would hate engineering. Sure, he was starting to understand basic algebra. Engineering probably meant calculus and physics and Dean could look at an engine and know what was wrong – he could follow a blueprint and put the Iron Man suit together – but not if he had to invent it first. Not if he had to melt down the steel and put it all together.

He'd never invent an arc reactor.

But what was he passionate about?

Dean picked up the book again, starting at the top of the page and trying to find where he left off. When he was done with this book, he should give it to Sam and Castiel. Both of those nerds went crazy for a dystopia and even though he wasn't very far into it yet, it was a fucking great book.

If he got lost in it for another half an hour before he finally paused at the end of the chapter, so what? When he removed himself from the back seat, the men shot a look at him – all easy smiles – and Dean took inventory of what he had left to do on the Impala.

There wasn't much left – maybe three hours worth of work on installing the rest of the stuff, then he'd paint her and get her all beautiful – but every time he went near the boxes, he thought of Castiel in a bathtub bleeding to death and Dean didn't think he deserved it. He didn't deserve the presents – he didn't deserve the Impala – he didn't deserve Castiel's forgiveness.

Instead of working on the car, Dean grabbed his notebook out of his backpack and started working on Dr. Fuller's homework. Writing a letter to Castiel.

* * *

 

They still wouldn't let him see Castiel. He'd been clean for a week and a half – Castiel only had five days before his involuntary 30 days turned into a potential voluntary 30 more if Castiel chose to stay – and Crowley wanted the boy to know he was here for him. He wanted to jump on a table and scream, "Look at what I did for you. Look at what I gave up for you."

Somewhere in the back of Crowley's sober mind, he knew this scene had played out before. He remembered when Castiel fought staying clean for Dean. Dean wouldn't take Castiel back, and if Crowley was honest with himself, he never really had Castiel to begin with.

But still.

Crowley had sacrificed. He made four grand selling the drugs back – it was a fucking steal, Crowley had really gotten ripped off, but it's not like he needed the money – and he wasn't sure what to do with it. He wanted to give it to Castiel – he was worth more than four times what Crowley originally gave him for his body – but he knew Castiel wouldn't take it.

He thought about giving it to Dean, but that felt too much like he was purchasing Castiel, and he was sure the Winchesters would punch him in the face for suggesting it.

He thought about giving it to Lucifer, but the dude had more than four times _that_ locked away in a bank somewhere after the profits he made from the drugs and the prostitution and the fights and club. Nobody wanted his drug money.

And his mother had been furious. For the first time in over three years, Mrs. Crowley had to get dressed and walk to the park to find her own fix. Crowley just watched her walk down the sidewalk with her coat drawn tight over her bones. He could see her legs trembling, trying to remain upright and in motion.

He didn't know how to fix her. He didn't know how to fix this. But he had to try.

"You have to let me see him," Crowley begged the secretary. He had tried to remain calm, but he was aware he was losing control. He wanted to take a pill. He wanted to pass out right here and make them keep him in this same hospital. Crowley was shaking for it. "Please?"

He hadn't even noticed the woman called the doctor, until a tall man was standing in front of him and leading him down into his office. The boy sat down in one of the chairs and the doctor went behind a desk. Somehow, it made Crowley feel like a child and his dad was scolding him.

"Anthony Crowley?" the doctor asks. "I have certainly heard a lot about you."

"I want to see Castiel."

"I'm sure you do, but we are strongly discouraging most visitors, and certainly those who would be triggers. Don't you think you might trigger him into some sort of action?" The doctor folded his hands across the desk, and Crowley felt himself shrink. "Would you risk him harming himself for your own selfish gain?"

"Yes," Crowley whined, but then changed it to, "No… I don't… look, I'm clean. I haven't used in a week and a half for him. I just want him to know that he isn't alone and that I… I love…"

"I'm afraid we cannot allow you to see him." The doctor offered a little shrug. "But we have told Dean Winchester the same thing. So I will tell you what I told him. It would be unwise for you to see him – for his own safety as well as yours – however, because he is a minor and still in school, he will likely return in May to finish out the school year. These will be stressful times – it will be incredibly difficult for him to readjust – and we'll do all we can to keep him clean and healthy from our end. He will have therapy a few times a week and groups as well. I cannot stop you when he is in school, but I would urge you to stay away from him for a while. Write letters instead."

"Letters?" Crowley asked.

"Castiel responds very well to writing. His first three weeks here he wouldn't speak a word – he communicated almost entirely by a series of letters exchanged between the two of us. My advice to you would be to let him have space in public, but write him letters so you can tell him the things you think he needs to hear."

"Letters," Crowley repeated, but this time it was more of a statement.

"Indeed, Mr. Crowley," The doctor stood and nodded him toward the door. Together they made their way to the front door. Crowley was stunned, but somehow hopeful. He could write letters. He could do that. "And, I do believe that Castiel would be grateful for your friendship."

* * *

 

Lucifer had been doing really well on the Clozaril.

Every drug has its kinks at first – it sometimes took months of taking a drug before the effects could really start to show – but he hadn't seen anything off about his reflection and that had always been his big sign. So when Sam walked into Grace and heard screaming on Monday, April 29th, he panicked. He signed in as quickly as he could and raced to the day room.

But the scene was very much different from the last time.

The first thing Sam noticed was Castiel. He was sitting on the couch in front of the TV, but the thing was off. He had the guitar sitting on the floor, but the neck of it was resting against the armrest. His legs were stretched out over the seats, crossed at the ankles, and he leaned leisurely against the side of it, pillows stacked behind him for comfort. Castiel was looking semi-intently at his fingernails, pausing from looking every so often to shoot a glare at his screaming brother and bite at a hangnail. He looked like he was pretending to be bored but was secretly amused.

The second thing Sam noticed was the way the other people in the dayroom were staring at Lucifer's tirade with less fear and more curiosity – like the way adults stare at children throwing a fit in a supermarket – but with less embarrassment than that.

Finally, Sam let his eyes settle on his eighteen-year-old boyfriend, who was stomping one of his feet and waving his arms around, screaming at the top of his lungs, "THIS ISN'T FAIR!" at the orderlies. They didn't look like they knew what to do with the guy either. Pamela was laughing her ass off some ten feet away from the scene and Dr. Fuller came running with a look more of annoyance than worry.

"Seriously, Lucifer, what the hell?" The doctor asked, but that just got another cry of teen anguish from Lucifer that made him sound more like a spoiled girl at her failing quinceañera and less like the former leader of a children's street gang.

"I'm going to be stuck in here for Sam's birthday," Lucifer lamented, throwing his hands up again. "I want to go home for his birthday."

Sam was pretty much frozen to the spot with the shouting, but he suddenly started laughing. This whole thing was about something stupid, something about him, and the laughter got Lucifer's attention. His arms folded in front of him that didn't do anything to make him look less like a brat, but he huffed himself up in defiance and pouted.

"I'll come here on my birthday," Sam said, shooting a grin at Castiel. The younger Novak grinned so wide it reached his eyes and the simple, genuine happiness was something Sam had missed on his friend.

"Hopefully though," Castiel added with a deep, still mostly-unused voice. "It won't be _here_ he comes, but in your bedroom."

Sam sputtered for a second, but Lucifer turned completely red with fury, and like the prima donna he insisted he wasn't, he stormed off to the bathroom. Pamela was roaring with laughter at that – doubled over and clenching her side – but the doctor just rolled his eyes and said, "That is quite enough, Castiel."

Castiel just shrugged.

Sam was debating wither Dean would have high-fived the sex joke or reprimanded him because it was about his little brother. Dean had always had a _go get 'em_ attitude toward Sam and his loss of virginity with girls, but Sam wasn't exactly sure how he felt if Lucifer was the one who'd be taking it.

Not that Sam was thinking about that. Sixteen still seemed kind of young, don't you think?

Sam sighed – suddenly not completely sure _why_ Lucifer had been so upset he couldn't be out for Sam's birthday – and started sitting down on the couch next to Castiel. The older boy pulled his feet back to give him some room, and Castiel dropped his hands to his knees and he looked at Sam for a few seconds before tilting his head and asking, "What would you like for your birthday, Sam?"

Castiel on his meds didn't have total anxiety about talking – he could talk, he just didn't like to – but it was still a pretty rare occasion. He never asked stupid questions for small talk, so Sam had to guess this was actually important to him. But Sam was well on his way to getting everything he ever wanted – a happy boyfriend who was rid of his unwanted hallucinations, a healthy and sober friend, a reliable and loving father – and there wasn't much more a kid like him could ask for.

Well, there was still one thing he wanted.

"I was thinking if it was okay with the staff and you and Lucifer, I could invite a few people over here for cake. Like, Gabriel and Balthazar… and my dad and Dean… if that's alright with you."

Castiel tensed. His gaze dropped from Sam's face to his chest, and he stared hard for a long moment. They hadn't talked about Dean at all. They hadn't mentioned Crowley. Castiel's drug addiction and even the hallucinations were off-limits discussion set forth by this big unspoken rule the three of them had. The doctors were keeping Dean away for a reason, and Sam shouldn't have asked.

"Um… never mind, Cas. It'll just be the three of us, it's cool."

"No, it isn't," Castiel's eyes returned to Sam's face. He licked his lips and gave a slight shake of his head. "I'll try, Sam. I really will, but I can't promise… I can't talk… I can't…"

"You don't have to do anything, Cas," Sam patted his friend's arm and looked up, watching as Lucifer grew bored in the bathroom without anyone watching him throw his temper tantrum and walked out. He returned to the couch with a frown on his face. He had his guard up, like he expected to be made the butt of a joke. "You don't even have to talk to him. I'll keep Dean out of your hair."

"But what would I even say? What could I possibly say to him that he would want to hear from me?" Castiel sighed.

Lucifer gave a little shrug, "How about, 'hello?'"

* * *

 

Gabriel and Balthazar were probably already at Grace and Dean was dragging his feet. He must have changed his clothes four or five times, and Sam was completely sure that Castiel didn't give a damn what Dean was wearing. The pair of them would stand across the dayroom from each other, breathless at the sight of each of them growing up and getting better in the absence of the other. They would be silently admiring each other for the hour or so they'd be there and with three or four minutes until the party left the facility, they would say their pleasantries and make their small talk.

They'd be together again in a week.

Of course, it could always go the other way, too.

Seeing Dean could trigger a huge relapse in Castiel. It would be unlikely he would do anything in the hospital, but once he was out, he wouldn't exactly have nurses and doctors keeping him away from his dealer. Castiel could slip – it was a possibility, a statistical probability – but more than ever before, Sam believed in his boyfriend's brother. Sam believed in his friend.

And when Dean walked down the stairs, eyebrows arched upward in an unusually open and vulnerable way, opening his arms to his brother to ask his opinion on this outfit, Sam knew this would be therapeutic. This would be good for both of them.

Dean had finally settled on jeans and a green sweater that might be a little too tight, but Castiel wouldn't complain. They would be awkward and disgusting all night, and then be awkward and disgusting sometime next week when Castiel's thirty days were up for a completely different reason.

Even John was in high spirits on the way to Grace.

Dean was a growing ball of tension the closer they got to the facility, and Sam remembered that this was the first time he was really seeing Cas since finding him in the tub. When they finally got to Grace, Sam waited for a full thirty seconds, trying to think of something to say to Dean to help him. He wanted to say the things he knew from Lucifer and Castiel. He wanted to tell Dean that everything would work out because the Novaks were _better_ now; Castiel still loved Dean, he had always been in love with Dean, and that had always been the problem.

Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester had always loved each other too much. That had always been their greatest sin.

But eventually, John managed to catch Sam's eye in the rear-view and his father shook his head. Sam nodded his response and got out of the car.

He would always wonder what John would say to Dean in these moments, but Sam would never ask. It wasn't his place.

It had been just a few days short of thirty since Lucifer and Castiel had been admitted and Sam could honestly say that there hadn't been one day where Sam hadn't visited at least for half an hour. Sometimes he would sit in the day room for an hour or two, practicing the guitar until his fingers would throb and the skin was peeling. Sam knew two or three songs, but Castiel had a lot more time to practice while Sam was at school, so he was a lot better. But even if Sam couldn't stay long, he would stand outside of Lucifer's room, standing on his tiptoes so he could kiss him as his boyfriend leaned out the window to meet him halfway.

Sam had bothered the staff for weeks, trying to act shy and apologetic when Lucifer was brash and did something that had Pamela glaring at him sightlessly. He had bothered the other patients with his near-constant presence – playing chess with Castiel in the corner as Lucifer went to physical therapy, watching Lucifer's excitement the first time he ran the fingers of his left hand over Sam's hair and actually feeling something other than numbness – but he never expected this.

When Sam walked in, nobody was at the front counter. He signed himself in and walked into the dayroom. There wasn't enough room to hide everyone, but most of them didn't jump out and scream surprise anyway. There was just applause among the balloons and streamers, screams of _Happy Birthday, Sam_ among the crowd, and Lucifer and Castiel standing side-by-side: Castiel clapping, Lucifer just smiling.

In less than ten paces, Lucifer caught Sam's waist in his arms and leaned down, kissing him like he meant it for the first time since the day he walked into the bathroom at the Church and walked out bloody, clenching his open wrists to his white shirt. Sam's hands found his boyfriend's shoulders, paused for a moment, and slid up, wrists touching the shoulders, then forearms, then finally elbows caught and Sam tightened his grip, keeping Lucifer pinned against him with their bodies flush together.

Sam wasn't sure if the applause got louder or if it was the sound of the blood rushing in his body, painting his face and neck and chest.

It wasn't a long kiss – but wasn't devoid of passion – and when they stepped back, holding each other at arm's length, Castiel walked up, holding something in his arms. Sam was hardly able to look away from the blue in front of him – so open and clear and full of love and adoration – but when he did, he noticed the cake. His hands slipped from Lucifer's shoulders, turning to take his friend's form in completely.

"We made it for you," Castiel said, nodding his head to the back. "All of us."

Sam looked passed Castiel to the twelve other people who were committed in Grace. Some of them were girls younger than the Novaks, putting on weight after a diagnosis of one of the eating disorders. Others were war vets who jumped at the sound of a book falling off the table and limped and cried through mealtimes. There were other addicts and other suicides, other disorders and doctors and nurses.

And they were all smiling at Sam.

"Um…" Lucifer's arm was still slung around Sam's waist, fingers of his right hand tightening against his hip. Sam took the cake in his hands, offering a smile to Castiel before meeting the eye of one of the other junkies – a meth head who had his twentieth birthday just last week and none of his family had showed for it, so Lucifer, Sam, and Castiel had made him cards with crayons and glue and glitter – and the boy offered a smile. "Um, thank you," Sam said with shaking hands. Castiel started lighting the candles.

The crowd clapped again and started singing happy birthday to him. He stared down at the cake – chocolate frosting with white letters painted on, meticulously and careful – and Sam wondered what he did to deserve a cake from these people when he wasn't even one of them. He was just a boy who visited his boyfriend, his best friend; he was only somebody who was there.

It was when they asked him to make a wish – to close his eyes and blow the candles out – that Sam realized. He had been there for Lucifer (and he had been there for Castiel) when the two of them needed it the most. He had been to see Lucifer every day, even if he could only see him through his window, and many of the others didn't have that. Friends and lovers and wives had left them. They were broken, and nobody was there to help fix them.

Castiel caught the cake before Sam dropped it, and Lucifer cupped Sam's cheeks, the fingers on his left hand could hardly press hard enough to wipe away the tear. Sam put on a brave face and blew out the candles, and Castiel took the cake away so the nurses could cut it. The second the attention left Sam for the cake, the boy ducked his head and placed his face into his boyfriend's collarbone. Lucifer held him as he cried.

* * *

 

Dean shifted from foot to foot, shaking his hands and rolling his shoulders. He hadn't seen Castiel since that day he told Dr. Fuller all that stuff when Lucifer had let him peek through the glass window to see Castiel. The boy hadn't been doing well. Sam would give updates in a vague sort of way, always with, "You should go see for yourself," tagged on at the end, but Dean couldn't.

It was his fault Castiel was in here to begin with.

If Dean hadn't… if Dean could have just…

He had been out there for at least ten minutes. They would notice his absence – or at least, Castiel would – and Dean didn't know what was worse. Going or not going.

In the end, Dean really knew the answer. He couldn't not go. Castiel needed him. Sam needed him, and Dean lived to serve.

When he walked in, they weren't cutting the cake or doing anything that would be even remotely normal. No. That would be too easy. Instead, Castiel was sitting at a bench facing the piano; Sam was sharing the bench facing away, staring down at the guitar like he could will his fingers with his eyes his hands would follow. Lucifer was standing, singing to the crowd.

" _But I'd like to think I can cheat it all to make up for the times I've been cheated on."_

Dean almost turned around and walked out when he heard Lucifer singing. It was too close for comfort, too close, and Dean didn't want to deal with every little thing he was feeling. Instead, he focused on Sam's sure hands on the strings. His brother seemed so proud to be able to play this simplistic version for his boyfriend, and Dean listened – painful as it was – to hear Lucifer sing those fucking words. Why couldn't he have just walked in ten seconds later? Instead, Dean tried to focus on his brother show off what he'd learned in the past month from studying the guitar under the Novaks.

He listened to Castiel play the piano and his heart clenched in his throat.

" _If you're lost and alone, or you're sinking like a stone… carry on."_

It didn't take long before other people were singing along, and Dean felt an arm snake around his shoulders. It was John – of course it was John, who else would it be? – and Dean felt himself trying to relax. It was actually working. Until the song ended. It seemed that Sam only knew one song, so when it was over, his brother and the Novaks stood up to bow.

Castiel wasn't even fully turned around before he caught sight of Dean – the older Winchester could tell by the sharp intake of breath and the flinch back he couldn't quite hide – and Dean wanted to sink into the floor. Castiel didn't bow with the others, he didn't grin and play up his ability, he just stood there, huge eyes looking at Dean, and he couldn't take it.

He offered a little wave before he ducked off toward the table. He grabbed himself a slice of cake just to give him something to focus on that wasn't the boy on the other side of the room.

It was obvious they were hiding from each other to both their brothers, Dean was sure, but it was too much. What do you say to the guy who sold his body ten times to bail your dad out of jail? Who came back, begging his forgiveness and begging for help, and you just threw away like he was nothing? What do you say to the guy you found carved up in your bathroom?

Dean was still trying to think of something to say an hour later. His dad and Sam were helping Lucifer and the staff clean up, and Dean was pretending to be really interested in this comic book that had super heroes explaining ADHD – there was a whole series of them on the bookshelf – when he heard it. That voice, low and careful, like it was trying to sooth a skittish horse.

"Hello Dean."

His eyes lifted from the book and met blue. Castiel had put on some weight, it looked like, not that he had anywhere to go but up on that front. His hair was messy but clean, his face open and alert. And his eyes. For once, Dean looked into his eyes and actually thought he could see who Castiel must really be inside there.

Dean sighed – he really couldn't hold the thing back – and said, "Hi Cas."

Castiel smiled, letting out a small breath himself, and Dean couldn't help himself but return it.

* * *

 

When Crowley was younger, his family used to tell him he had no shame. Crowley came from money, but there had been a rough patch after some bad investments for a few years. In those two years between the ages of three to five, Crowley was already making deals to better himself – charging a desperate kid three times its worth for a piece of gum, trading his worthless lunch fruit for snack packs and nutty bars, running "errands" for the bigger boys on the playground who could use the help of a cute little kid to move product – and his wealth was considerable for a five year old. And they always told him he was unable to feel shame.

Until later that year when his dad got the big one.

Then his shamelessness changed. He would get suspended from his private schools for swearing or fighting. He lost his virginity younger than Lucifer had. The cops had to bring him home one night, drunk off his ass at thirteen, and his dad just shook his head and said, "No shame, that one."

When he was younger, his mom had been different – better by a little bit – but still an empty shell. She was never the woman in London that she was in Lawrence, but people who knew her said she wasn't the same after high school.

When Crowley was little, his mother would tell him stories about how someday, a beautiful angel would save him from his boring life and save him from his shameless ways.

The angel would teach him how to be a better man.

And Crowley remembered asking, "Do you have an angel, mum?"

"Yes, baby," she would say, smoothing his hair over his head. She was already riding the Valium and she'd be sleeping soon. "My angel was the most loving person I'd ever met. And I loved her, Tony. We would do everything together, and she made me better by being around her. But we grew up. She married her boy and I married your dad. But some nights, I close my eyes and can still see her standing there in front of me. Her eyes - Tony, you wouldn't even believe me - her eyes were an amazing shade of blue. And to this day, I've never seen anyone with hair the same shade of red."

But Crowley forgot about the stories until long after he'd moved to America, to his mother's hometown so she could see her sick angel. He was fifteen – a freshman at school – sitting in an armchair in Grace Mental Health Facility, texting his supplier about another drop off when his mother stood from her angel's bedside and gripped his arm. She dragged him from the room just as the woman's family was walking in. Lucifer – a kid in his biology class – raised a hand to his face to subtly flick him off (they were archenemies at best) and Crowley was so distracted by one Novak, he bumped into the other.

He wasn't much younger – an eighth grader probably – but he was a head shorter than Crowley. His hands raised on impact to try and gesture he meant no harm, a mess of black hair lifting to show blue eyes and a sheepish, submissive smile.

As his mother dragged him from the room, Crowley suddenly believed all the things she had said about angels. He had one too.

And Crowley was shameless. He would do anything for the younger boy's attention. It started with fights with Lucifer – never physical, but snarky comments thrown across a room – and teased the boy himself once he entered his freshman year. It didn't take long for Crowley to stop teasing and offer companionship instead. They weren't more than acquaintances – and only that much because Crowley knew the other boy's routines better than his own – but Castiel was smart and bored and eager to please.

Then Castiel suddenly had a prescription for an antidepressant. Then he had a prescription for Xanax. Then one day, Crowley found him puking his withdrawal into the bathroom toilet and Crowley knew how to curb that. A joint for five bucks.

And you know how that story turned out.

But right now, Anthony Crowley was proving how shameless he could be. They wouldn't let him into Grace to see Castiel, but they didn't say anything about lurking around the windows and hoping to get a spot of him.

And he did.

It was Sam's birthday, and a bunch of people were celebrating. The May air was warm, and the staff had opened he windows. Crowley could hear them perfectly. They were talking and laughing and things were easy for most of them. Dean and Castiel were dancing around each other, which made Crowley half worried and half gleeful. But he could work with those odds. He wouldn't need to use drugs this time, because Crowley had been with Castiel when he needed him most – when Dean had abandoned him – he could get Castiel back. Fair and square this time.

But then he heard it, and it was like when the fucking Grinch heard the Whos down in Whoville singing after he stole their shit. It was the deep, gravely voice of his angel saying, "Hello Dean."

Crowley leaned against the wall just to the left of the window. His heart was sinking to his stomach; he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. Dean Winchester gave the most contented sigh Crowley had ever heard in his life and his voice shook when he responded with, "Hi Cas."

It slammed down on him, hard and fast. The newest stuff came back first – hitting Castiel when they were trying to get sober, feeding him drugs to force him to stay, making that deal for the thousand dollars, letting Castiel sell, letting Castiel use, the very first joint Crowley slid between Castiel's lips, and the very first time he'd shoved Castiel onto his knees as a method of payment – it all came rushing back.

But it didn't stop there.

He kept a supply of heroin for his mother instead of putting her in Grace right next to Anna Novak. He crashed Sable's car when he'd been drunk as fuck and visiting his family at Christmas and he blamed Ligur. He stole the last fucking cookie even though he knew Scarlett had been saving it for their oldest brother who was always out working.

It slammed into Crowley like a meteor had hit him. It buckled his knees and left him panting on the ground.

Shame.

This was entirely his fault. He ruined any chance Castiel ever had at being happy because he wanted him for himself. He purposefully and knowingly sabotaged Castiel's relationship with Dean for his own selfish gain. And he felt shame.

Castiel had never been, and would never be, Crowley's angel. He was Dean's. Crowley had only managed to steal him for a time. He had tried to clip his wings and keep him chained, but in the end, it wouldn't matter.

Crowley pushed his back against the brick building and tried to use it to support his shaking legs. He stood for a moment, leaning heavily against the building, before he turned away. He threw his hands into the pockets of his jacket and ducked his head to keep the sun out of his eyes.

Crowley walked home.

* * *

 

This had gone on far enough, Michael thought as he sat in his father's favorite armchair in the living room. He could remember the stories that used to be shared here – Joseph and his brothers, Samson and Delilah, Peter and Paul – and Michael knew that there was a common denominator of all the stories and all the things his dad ever taught them. It was hanging over Lucifer's bed.

_Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself._

There were basically two rules to Christianity: Love God and don't be a dick. And Michael had seemed to fail at half of them. But he still had faith in his Father, and with that, Michael knew he could pick himself up and rebuild the bridges he had burned. He could learn to love his neighbor. He could learn to be good.

But he would need help, and to be honest, this wasn't entirely his responsibility. He was barely more than a kid.

Michael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, cupping his cell phone in his hands. He opened them, letting his cell phone rest like a precious jewel in his palm. After a final moment of stalling, Michael grasped the device between his fingers to open the phone app and press the first name under favorites. He put his phone to his ear and held his breath as it rang.

Nobody picked up, but he had figured as much. If he had to guess, Lucifer had been calling their father since the day he left trying to get him back. Lucifer had always taken the abandonment a little more personally than the rest of them.

The tone sounded to leave a voice mail, and Michael let out a breath along with a stream of words.

"Castiel and Lucifer have both been admitted to Grace Mental Health Facility – just like mom – but I'm sure you already know that. They called you, didn't they? And you just ignored them. I've been to see them, both are doing alright considering. Castiel has kicked the drugs and he's doing alright on his meds; did anyone tell you he was addicted to heroin for the past several months? Heroin, dad. They've had to change Lucifer's medication after his reflection was telling him to kill himself again. He cut himself so bad they had to surgically reattach the tendons in his arm, but they probably told you that too, and you just don't care. How can you not care about us? How could you have just abandoned your children like that?"

Michael took a breath, eyes falling to the spot on the carpet where he used to sit with Gabriel in his lap where his father told his children stories.

"I don't know what to do anymore, dad. I have ruined my family in every way – Zachariah and Uriel practically think the apocalypse is on us and that I need to rid the world of Lucifer to make it right. Raphael is changing; he's growing reserved and quiet and he leaves for long periods of time without telling anyone where he's going. Balthazar thought he got his girlfriend pregnant for a while, dad. He's only sixteen… he can't raise a child but I don't know what to say to him to keep him safe from that because you never told us what to do. You told us not to. I told that to him and he doesn't want to listen to me. I'm not his father. I'm just a teenager myself and I can't tell him what to do with himself. I can't… And you know what? Gabriel's got himself a pagan girlfriend. You know what I think about that, dad? I think she is a beautiful girl and a wonderful companion for my brother and I don't care that she's a pagan because for once – _for once_ – since you left and I started fucking up our family, Gabriel is actually happy. So what does it matter? What does any of it matter? Why won't you pick up the phone?"

Michael was shaking. He was prone to bouts of rage where he couldn't control himself, but he'd been practicing. He took a few deep breaths and counted backwards from five. When he started speaking again, his voice no longer shook.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that you really fucked us up by leaving. We've been on our own for months and it nearly destroyed us. But I think we're starting to come back from this. Or we will be, if Zachariah and Uriel don't do something hasty. I just wanted you to know – wherever you are, if you're sitting around listening to this – I just wanted you to know that we aren't surviving because of any skill you taught us. We're surviving despite you."

The older twin hit the end button and tossed his phone onto the table. He was still trembling – nobody stood up to their father and defied him while he was around – but Michael had to. James Novak had to know that he had a hand in everything that had happened since he left. And in the chance the man was dead, Michael hoped that the man could hear him in hell.

Three minutes passed before the phone rang. He looked at the clock. It was just about six and Gabriel was probably calling to make sure that it was okay if he brought Kali to dinner. Well, really, he was asking for a ride home, but the other way sounded much nicer. Michael shot a look to the kitchen, where Bela was dusting flour off of Balthazar's shirt before leaning in and kissing him. Their music was too loud to have heard Michael, and the older brother could look at the pair of them – smiling and happy together – and thank God that he hadn't lost them, too.

And soon, he'd be getting his brothers back. It would be different this time. It would be better.

Michael picked up the phone and answered with, "Yeah?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, but Michael knew they were still connected by the way he could hear the breathing – uneven and worried – and that was about the time the front door slammed open. Gabriel and Kali walked in with smiles, Balthazar and Bela greeted them like they were family coming home for Thanksgiving who hadn't been seen in a long while. Gabriel was saying something about the nice weather and how they wanted to walk.

Michael turned around, so his back was to his brothers and whispered into the receiver, "Hello?"

This time, there was a response. A voice too familiar – it was a pained remnant of the voice Michael could still hear echo through the house if he was alone and listening carefully – and the voice only said one word, one name…

"Michael?"

The tears were already out of Michael's eyes and running down his cheeks. He tried to wipe them away, but they wouldn't stop flowing. He knew he had to answer. He knew he had to step up as the leader of their family once more, but all he wanted was to be a kid – bring Hester over and act like Balthazar and Gabriel – but things would never be that easy for Michael. Never again.

So he tried to sound brave, he tried to put on a tough voice, but the word he spoke came out broken and shaky. After all, Michael wasn't much more than a kid.

"Dad?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs: 
> 
> “Demons” by Imagine Dragons is the song Lucifer is murmuring in the hall outside Cas’ room when Pam was checking on him.
> 
> “Dog days are over” by Florence and the Machine is the song Lucifer and Sam made the video for that Michael is showing his band class.
> 
> “Revelation song” by Kari Jobe is what Michael and Lucifer sing when Michael visits the boys in Grace.
> 
> “Ho Hey” by the Lumineers is the song that Byron (Dean) requested Castiel sing at the assembly.
> 
> “Our Song” by Taylor Swift (or at least, most of the words from that song) is the song Lucifer submits on his college application.
> 
> “Carry on” by fun. is the song Cas, Lucifer, and Sam play at the birthday party.


	13. Your Shadow

  **Your Shadow**

Sam was fucking ecstatic. He was vibrating in the back seat, digging his fingernails into his jeans with enough force to rip them, swear to God. And it wasn't that Dean wasn't excited – the thought of sitting in a car with Castiel, even if it was only long enough to drop him off at home – was enough to give him butterflies with razors for wings. He was anxious and nervous and excited, but Sam was like a dog who managed to find out his human was coming home after a long tour in Iraq.

"Boy," John said, his voice had a twinge of annoyance in it, but Sam didn't seem to really pick up on it. "If you don't stop with that, you're going to shake the car apart."

"Sorry, sir," Sam said behind a grin, but he still couldn't quite contain himself.

Dean caught his father's eye and the man smiled. It had been a long ass road to get them all here. To get John clean – though he mostly did that himself – and to get Sam to act like a kid his age again – though Lucifer mostly did that. And the Novaks had gone through worse. Just thinking about where both of them must have been at just thirty days ago made Dean anxious. For the first time in a long time for either of them, it was a new beginning.

It was kind of a new beginning for all of them.

When they pulled up in front of Grace, Lucifer was already waiting outside. He had his guitar case and a notebook at his feet, his arms thrown around Pamela's neck – Dean couldn't be sure, but her hand seemed kind of low on the small of his back – and Sam was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop. John yelled at him, throwing the car into park, but Sam was running away from the car at full force.

Dean had expected it to be like those cheesy movies where two people are running across a meadow shouting each other's names really slowly. He almost expected Lucifer to fake-run in slow motion – and Dean would stand behind the fact that he was _sure_ Lucifer would have done just that – if, of course, Sam hadn't gotten to him before Lucifer had really even let go of Pamela.

Instead of a gross chick flick moment, Lucifer turned with just enough time so that Sam didn't crash into him _and_ Pamela, so only the pair of boys hit the concrete. Well, Lucifer hit the concrete. Sam mostly hit Lucifer. In the gut, by the looks of it.

"Omigod, I'm sorry, Lucifer," Sam was practically exclaiming, lifting Lucifer's head and checking for blood. The blond tried to get his feet under him, a pained groan escaping his lips, but Sam started checking his elbows and arms for scrapes. It was probably hard enough to stand up with his left arm pressed up against his stomach to protect it, but it was infinitely harder with Sam hovering over him like that.

Dean was already doubled over with laughter in the car, but when Pamela offered a grin and yelled, "He's your problem now," and disappeared inside, Dean lost it again. John was laughing too, and by the time the two of them could breathe again, Sam was putting the guitar in the trunk and Lucifer was sitting in the backseat, looking over himself for scrapes.

"Cas getting out today, too?" John asked as Sam got in the car and shut the door behind him. He kept the foot on the break, like he was waiting for the other boy to run out at any second. Dean looked away from the window – where he had been watching for Castiel – to look at the blond.

"Yeah. I mean, he's already out. Zachariah and Michael got him earlier today," Lucifer had still been looking at his elbow on his left arm, but when he felt the silence grow heavy, he looked back up. Dean looked away, well aware he must look like some kicked puppy, but the other boy must have seen it. "No, hey. I mean… I think he just thought that he doesn't know where he stands, at the moment. Or where you… He didn't want to force himself on you guys."

The silence went on for another moment, long enough for Sam to fasten his seatbelt and John to pull out of the parking lot. It was broken by Sam, who reached across the seat to thread his fingers through Lucifer's, even though the boy couldn't squeeze back with that hand yet, and asked, "Were they mad that you didn't go with them?"

"No," Lucifer shrugged. "Michael figured as much. I'm going to go back. And I guess I'll sleep there now."

"You can stay with us for as long as you like," John said, shooting a look in the rear-view.

"He figured that as well," Lucifer tried to give Sam's hand a squeeze. The fingers twitched just a little bit. "He asked me if I would try and be home by Sunday, so I could go to school with them all Monday morning. I think more for Castiel than himself, though."

"At least you got out on a Friday," Dean said, and Lucifer agreed.

They ended up eating lunch at Friendly's because it was what Lucifer wanted. He said he hadn't had it since he was a kid – the last time he'd gone it was after church before his mom was admitted and his dad left – he said that they had to put two tables together to fit them all and it had been somewhat of a train wreck. Michael wouldn't stop drumming with the silverware, Zachariah wouldn't put his walkman away, Gabriel had cried because they put nuts on his sundae and he was too afraid to ask for it without them, Raphael had used the wrong bathroom by mistake and an old lady dragged him back to their table in a state of fury until Anna held him as he cried and told him it was _fine_ , Balthazar had gotten lost between the restaurant and the car, and Uriel found him setting off firecrackers behind the dumpster. Jimmy looked at Anna and vowed _never again_ before they got in the car and drove away.

By the time their food arrived, Dean could tell that Lucifer was somehow giving up that family in favor of this new one. And maybe he and Sam wouldn't last – Dean couldn't tell the future – but in that moment, Dean knew that Lucifer was a brother to him. They were family.

"What about Castiel?" Dean asked. Sam gave him a look over his basket of chicken fingers, but didn't say anything.

Lucifer looked down at his food with a small smile playing on his lips, "Castiel brought a book. He sat quietly and read the entire time."

Lucifer wanted to pay for dinner, but since he was coming directly from a mental health facility, he didn't have any cash on him. He swore the whole ride back that he would pay John back, but the man just said, "I owe you lot more than I can ever pay you back," and it was forgotten.

The rest of Lucifer's first day out of the facility passed slowly. They watched TV, they dinner, they watched a movie. John went to bed around eight, and Sam grabbed the laptop like he'd just been waiting for his father to leave. Dean looked up from his book to the clock. He could read for a while in bed, and it would be nice of him to let the pair of them have some time alone. Lucifer was looking kind of drowsy, and Dean doubted he would be up much longer. He waited until he finished the chapter – enough time for the annoying Sims loading music to stop in favor of actual game play – and Dean stood, said good night, and started walking to his room.

He didn't even hit the first step when he heard Lucifer ask, "In a month, we must have grandkids now. Maybe great-grandkids. Me and you are probably dead."

"No, look," Dean heard his brother's soft voice reply. "I couldn't play it without you. We're right where we left off."

It was around the time he heard Lucifer murmur his brother's name and the unmistakable silence of people kissing that Dean took the stairs two at a time and slammed his door behind him.

* * *

The first thirty-six minutes Castiel was home – in his childhood home – he was surrounded by nearly all his brothers in the living room. The addict himself was curled in his father's armchair, his knees drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs, and his chin resting on his knees. He thought, for a moment, how easy it would be to pick up the habit he spent 30 days kicking. He remembered the heroin like it was yesterday. He remembered the methadone like it had been hours ago. He could find Crowley and drop to his knees and beg him for one more. _One last hit_. And then he'd be good. He'd be clean. He promised.

But Uriel was looking vengeful and half insane – like Titus Andronicus after he found Lavinia raped and mutilated – and for a second, Castiel wondered if Uriel would kill Crowley's parents and feed them to Crowley in a pie. Raphael's look was one of pity and sorrow – like he was half here and half in his head with his own problems – but Raphael had always been one who had masked intentions and motives. Gabriel and Balthazar were doing their best to pretend nothing was different – that absolutely nothing had changed – but even they had fallen silent for the moment.

Michael sat closest to Castiel on the couch – the other Novaks were behind him – and he was holding his hand out toward his younger brother. His palm was up, and Castiel reached out blindly, gripping Michael's hand between his fingers.

"We love you, brother," Michael said, and Castiel believed him. He nodded, one hand clinging at his brother, the other keeping himself in a ball. "What would you like to do?"

In the end, Castiel was perfectly aware he was trading one addiction for another, but the shows on Netflix seemed so harmless compared to the heroin. He could get lost in the shows, he could live another life, he could be someone else, if only for an hour. And in the end, his brothers realized that at his core, Castiel was an addict. He needed one thing to be hyperaware of – he needed one thing to steal all of his attention – and if that meant he watched the first two seasons of Teen Wolf in two and a half days, then at least he was sitting in the arm chair and not out on the streets doing god knows what for drugs.

His brothers filtered in and out. Gabriel and Balthazar watched the first few episodes with him, forcing the conversation at every turn ( _"What is happening, Cassie?" "Who do you think is hotter, Cas?" "No, seriously, what the fuck is happening?"_ ) but they both had girlfriends to attend to, and Uriel took the next shift. He watched exactly one episode in complete silence, and when Castiel hit the X button on Lucifer's PlayStation paddle to skip the 20 seconds until the next episode started, Uriel got up and walked away, vowing _"Never again_ , _"_ under his breath. Raphael was silent too, when he watched the end of season 1 and the start of season 2, but he was more in his head than he was silently judging Castiel for his choice in TV shows.

Raphael spoke for one brief conversation as the lizard-thing was attacking Isaac's dad. Raphael asked, "You like boys, right?"

Castiel turned his head away from the man screaming in the car on screen. He offered a nod.

"Does that mean you think you're a girl? I mean, do you want to be a girl? Would you rather?" Raphael's eyes were wide and open, not judgmental, but Castiel shook his head.

"No. I like dicks," Castiel smiled, even if the comment made his brother flush. "I like my own, too."

"But you don't wish you were a girl? Like, you don't like skirts and make-up and the idea of being beautiful and feminine? Do you ever wish you weren't a gay man, but a straight woman?"

Castiel gave it a moment's thought before he shook his head. "I don't know what it's like to be a woman, but I can hardly stand my hair this long. I can't imagine the pressure it would take to be a woman – everyone telling you what you had to look like and what you had to act like – I just like another guy on his knees in front of me. Or me on my knees in front of him." Castiel shrugged. Raphael looked equal parts mortified and pensive, so Castiel finished the same way he did before. "I like myself the way I am. I like having a dick."

Raphael didn't say more, but he left after the next episode. Castiel was never alone long, and when Michael showed up around the time the boys were chasing the kanima in the gay club, his older brother just sat close to him and watched, taking the show and Castiel in with some hyper-ability he had to take in his surroundings. For a second, Castiel wondered if Michael was really a werewolf, before he wondered what time (and day) it was, and figured he probably was in a little too deep with this show.

Castiel was on the edge of his seat with a stupid grin on his face – Stiles was playing in the lacrosse game _finally_ – when he noticed Lucifer slump next to him on the couch. The younger Novak tore his face away for a moment to take his recently discharged brother in. Lucifer looked well-fed and happy. He was freshly shaven and freshly showered, and Castiel wondered again what time it is. He had more than an average amount of scruff on his own face, but he hadn't noticed until now. Lucifer rested his back low on the couch, an easy grin falling on his lips as he turned toward his brother, "Sam likes this show."

There was cheering on screen. When Castiel turned back, Stiles had scored. He almost cheered himself.

"Sam's favorite is Scott."

Castiel turned back to his brother with a grimace he couldn't quite hide, "He likes _Scott?_ Like, actively? He's alright, but he's not Stiles or Derek." Lucifer just grinned at him, and Castiel leaned back into his seat, too. "Sam doesn't like Stiles? He pretty much _is_ Stiles – smart and funny and…"

"I said his favorite is Scott, not that he didn't like Stiles. Keep watching, Scott grows on you." Lucifer looked tired, but the grin on his face was easy and comfortable. Castiel noticed that Michael was in the kitchen, arms leaned against the center island. He was making dinner a minute ago, but now he was watching them like a hawk, a grin of his own parting his lips to reveal his teeth. It took a second, but Castiel could almost feel the warmth radiating from the boy. Lucifer was welcome back at home. Although he had been sleeping on the Winchester's couch for the past two days, he had been spending time here as well. Castiel hadn't left the couch since he got home Friday morning. His brothers were back; his family was back. And maybe Castiel had been too into this show – spent too much time engrossed in the world without enough breaks – but it felt like Michael was their alpha and the pack was together and happy and healthy for the first time since their dad left.

During dinner, when Castiel learned that it was Sunday and he had to start school again tomorrow, he almost felt nervous. But then Gabriel put a forkful of lasagna in his mouth, chewed it carefully, and leaned heavily into Uriel before singing, _"Live in my house. I'll be your shelter. Just pay me back with one-thousand kisses. Be my lover, I'll cover you."_

Everyone was there – all eight of them were at the dinner table, every one of them from Zachariah to Gabriel – and all of them started laughing when Uriel growled out, "No. Or as they say in Spanish… _No._ "

* * *

When Castiel opened his eyes, it was still dark out. It was the first night he was spending back in his old room, and it had taken him two hours after dinner to clean it and check his usual spots for hidden drugs. When he found some, he didn't even dare to touch it. He had called Michael, and watched from the corner of his room as his older brother destroyed the pills and flushed the powder, before smashing the tips off the needles and throwing them away.

When he was done, he wasn't sure why Michael hugged him. He hadn't realized he was shaking.

Castiel realized he hardly had any clothes, but he couldn't figure out where they could be. Did he ruin them and throw them away? He was wearing Crowley's clothes for the most part that last month, that suit he got in Europe, but where were his own clothes?

Did Dean still have them?

Castiel's breathing was suddenly too fast, and he decided instead to change his sheets and pillow cases, because nothing could go wrong doing that, right? He couldn't remember the last time he slept in this bed. He just couldn't remember. No wonder he had been sleeping on the couch. No wonder Lucifer had been sleeping at the Winchesters' house. It was more familiar than home was to either of them anymore.

For not the first time, Castiel thought about going to Crowley. Dean wouldn't take him back – Castiel wasn't even sure if he could look Dean in the eyes after everything he'd done to him – but Crowley was damaged goods, too. He could sleep at Crowley's. He could beg and beg and beg and Crowley would deliver.

Instead, Castiel crawled underneath his blankets and spent a long time trying to fall asleep.

He was annoyed that it was still dark – he was tired and needed more sleep but at least if it were morning he wouldn't be alone with his thoughts – but he quickly realized what had woken him up, and realized he wasn't alone at all.

"Hey," Lucifer was already putting his blankets and pillows on the floor without asking, and Castiel was shifting closer to the edge of his bed so he could look down at his brother. It wasn't until Lucifer was settled on the floor next to him – a hoodie drawn up over his head just like the times they shared the mattress on the floor in the Church – that Castiel felt something click into place deep in his chest. Something familiar. There had been nights Lucifer slept outside his room at Grace. More often than not, he slept on the floor or at the foot of the small bed when Pamela took pity on him and unlocked the door. "I couldn't sleep. Sorry I woke you."

"'s fine," Castiel said, letting his eyes fall shut again.

"When we were little, some nights I would wake up and I'd be in bed with Michael. We'd be holding hands. Sometimes he came to my bed, sometimes I went to him, but we would always end up together," Lucifer drew his arms around himself. "But everything's changed now."

"Yeah," Castiel said, opening his eyes long enough to find Lucifer's in the dark. He was already starting to calm down, and by the way his eyes slid shut, he knew his older brother was just as exhausted as he was. "Get some sleep. We're safe here."

"Mhm," Lucifer said, rolling away from Castiel to face the door. The younger boy rolled back to face the wall. He was almost asleep, when he heard Lucifer mumble something else in a sleep-heavy voice. "Dean misses you."

Castiel stayed awake for a long time after that, fingers tracing the patterns on the wall.

* * *

_We found love in a hopeless place  
We found love in a hopeless place_

Castiel's eyes shot open, feeling his pupils getting smaller to adjust to the light room. He knew he'd shut the blinds last night, but upon sitting up and looking around his room, he figured Lucifer must have opened them before he left to shower. His older brother wasn't in the room.

The dark haired boy pulled himself from the bed to shut the alarm clock off. As soon as he hit the button, there was a tentative knock on the door. A second later, the door opened, and Castiel turned to face his brother. It was Raphael.

"You're awake, Castiel?" His voice was gentle, and he crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the jamb in the door. "It's your first day back to school. You don't want to be late."

Raphael was skinny, Castiel realized. He had always been small – smaller compared to Uriel anyway – but something was different. His hair was longer than Castiel remembered it being. He hadn't noticed it yesterday. It was like everything was subtly different about him, including the way he carried himself. Something had changed for him recently.

"What do you do?" Castiel asked, turning his back on his brother to grab his clothes. "You work while we're at school, right?"

Raphael frowned, "I wait tables at a restaurant. Why?"

"I thought you had a desk job. I thought you had a good job."

"We needed money after dad left. Zachariah was the only one with a job. Uriel and I were about to start college. We had to drop out and get jobs," He offered a half-shrug, the kind that people do when they want to pretend something doesn't bother them. "I don't hate it."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I repaid your sacrifice." Castiel turned back around, catching sight of the bathroom door open and steam fill the hallway behind Raphael. Lucifer walked out with a towel wrapped around his waist. He paused long enough to offer a grin before walking down the hallway, disappearing in his and Michael's room. "I…"

"Looks like it's your turn," Raphael offered a smile and stepped back into the hallway. "You don't know what your homecoming does for us. And the strength you have shown – the determination you have to changing – is inspiring in ways you may not understand."

Castiel offered a small smile, "You're right, I don't."

"You will," Raphael started walking away. "Get in the shower, brother, or Gabriel won't have enough time to make it to school."

As Castiel shut the bathroom door and stripped down, he remembered how he used to call his mother in the morning before she died. He hadn't realized then that she had answered from a mental health facility. He couldn't believe he never knew that before. He couldn't believe she had kept it from him.

It wasn't until he was getting out that he caught sight of himself in the mirror. It was fogged over – peach and black smeared in a humanoid shape – and when Castiel ran a towel over it, he caught a look at the raised, pink flesh on his chest. Most of the scabs had fallen off in favor for the new skin, the scars, and he placed his hand on his stomach, letting his water-slicked fingers trail up his chest, feeling the tainted flesh.

He threw his shirt on to hide from himself, dressing himself as quickly as possible. His hair was too long – he ran his fingers through it to spike it up, but there was too much weight to keep it up like that – so he just dried it as best as he could and joined his brothers in the kitchen.

Raphael had made breakfast for the school-aged kids. He must have a later shift. Zachariah and Uriel were both gone to work or sleeping still. Michael and Lucifer sat side by side completely silent, but comfortable. It didn't look like they were going to rip each other's heads of at any moment, and Michael didn't seem to care where Lucifer had slept last night, as long as he was able to sleep and safe. Balthazar had an empty plate in front of him, but his eyes were glued to the cell phone in his lap as he played some game on it. He didn't know if he and Gabriel still pulled pranks on people.

Cutting into his waffle with his fork, Castiel thought about how great it would be to be closer to his brothers now that he was sober. He owed them an attempt, anyway.

Gabriel bounced into the kitchen, sitting down with his chocolate-chip pancakes and adding whipped cream to them. The kid never seemed to gain any weight.

He barely had time to eat it before Michael stood and took his, Balthazar's, and Lucifer's plate to the sink. Castiel hurried to finish eating before helping his brother with the dishes. Eventually, when they all left the house, they were a five-man pack of Novaks. Balthazar was chastising Michael for the B he'd gotten on his last biology test. Lucifer and Gabriel were talking about Kali until they stepped foot on school grounds and the blond Novak caught sight of his boyfriend talking to Benny.

Castiel knew that Lucifer owed Sam one – his brother had whispered his evil plan of retaliation during a really emotional scene with Stiles and the sheriff and Castiel punched him in the leg to shut him up – but Lucifer had enough sense in him to tackle Sam into the grass instead of the pavement. It was less of a tackle than it was a full-body hug, but the May grass was damp with dew and soft and it couldn't have hurt either of them.

Benny was roaring with laughter, even when Sam sat up enough to press a quick kiss against Lucifer's mouth, but the rest of the students seemed to ignore the pair of them. Lucifer rested his head against Sam's collarbone for a moment, letting out a contented sigh that Castiel couldn't hear, but he could see it in the release of tension over his brother, before he stood, offering his right hand to help Sam up.

"It's good, I think," Michael finally decided, hands on his hips. "I think Sam is good for him."

"Where have you been for the past three months, you moron?" Gabriel asked, shooting a grin at Balthazar. The other Novak mirrored his younger brother's grin, and the three of them walked away, giggling to themselves.

Soon enough, Lucifer and Sam went into the building, leaving Castiel standing among the crowd of people on the outside. He looked up at the building, knowing if he turned around and walked up the street that way, he would hit Crowley's house. He knew that if he walked around the corner to the right, he would see the spot where Dean saw him kiss Crowley. If he walked farther, he could see Lucifer's Church in the distance. He had done horrible things inside this building, and there was nobody to watch him – not 100% of the time – so who was going to make sure he stayed clean?

With a deep breath, Castiel walked in.

He was walking through the center lobby near the gym when he saw the vending machine. The warning bell would ring soon, and he still needed to go to his locker before he made it to his first class, but he couldn't walk away. Instead, his feet carried him to the machine. He looked inside.

It had been a long time since he'd been clean for a full month, and even the last time he had been allowed to drink alcohol to ease the pains. This time, he was overwhelmed with how hungry he was all the time – he had been so thin when they brought him to Grace that he was put on a similar regiment as the kids there for anorexia – and he was still nowhere near the weight someone his height should be. He was still underweight.

He was hungry all the time.

The boy dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans, but there wasn't anything in there. There wasn't anything in his hoodie either. Instead, he placed his forehead against the glass and whimpered, hoping there was still money on his lunch card.

He was trying to figure out where Lucifer would be before his lunch period, so he could ask to borrow some money, when he felt a hand rest gingerly on his shoulder. He turned around quickly, expecting it to be one of his brothers. The hand dropped, and instead he was looking across at Dean. He looked like he almost regretted calling attention to himself – maybe a little bit surprised he had reached out at all – and Castiel tried to hide in his amazement.

It didn't really work.

Instead, in the awkward silence that fell off the pair of them, Castiel tried to figure out why he had this weird since of déjà vu. It was there, in the back of his mind, but he couldn't bring it forward. He let his eyes slide shut – Dean's eyes were huge and if he licked his lips like Castiel knew he would, it was a nervous habit after all – the thought would be gone.

But then he remembered, his eyes shooting open in time to see Dean's tongue dart out past his lips, a shy smile replacing it after a second. The hand that had been placed on Castiel's shoulder held up a few dollar bills folded together. Dean didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows and extended his hand toward Castiel.

"Dean," Castiel tried, shaking his head.

The other boy's smile widened, he kept the bills held up in front of him. "We kind of met here, Cas. Remember it? Sam was starving and you gave us some money. I owe you more than this, but it's a start."

Castiel still didn't reach out and take the money. He couldn't say anything – drugs be damned, he was choking on his words – but Dean just offered one last grin and slipped the money in his hoodie pocket. He was walking away before Castiel had recovered enough to realize what happened.

"Wait –" Castiel called. The boy just waved a dismissing hand behind him and kept walking.

When Dean rounded the corner, Castiel pulled the money from his pocket. He fed one dollar in and bought a bag of Fritos. He fed the other dollar through and bought a bag of M&Ms, because he did remember meeting Dean here. And he remembered how Dean had repaid him for his kindness.

He put the M&Ms in his backpack and walked to his first period class, opening the Fritos. They were gone before he hit the classroom.

* * *

There were only a hundred times that Castiel thought about visiting Crowley in the bathroom, and that was before lunch. He wasn't sure what he would do when he inevitably saw him. He imagined yelling at him, punching and hitting and falling together again like they used to. He imagined dropping to his knees and begging for it the only way he knew how. He imagined he'd kill him.

What Castiel didn't imagine, was the question that came out when he looked up from his lunch and saw Crowley standing next to the table.

"You're clean?"

Crowley just shrugged, but Castiel knew him. He knew Crowley and his giveaways better than he knew his brothers and probably better than he knew himself. He was wearing clean clothes – a suit again – he had shaved, and his hands were clasped together in front of him, holding an envelope. He wasn't shaking or sweating, and if Castiel guessed, he had been good for a few weeks.

"I don't want to bother you, but…" Crowley held out his hand with the letter. When Castiel didn't take it right away, he sat it down on the table like it was filled with nitroglycerine. Castiel looked down at it – at his name scrawled across the front in Crowley's script – and looked back up at the other boy. "I won't approach you again. The ball's in your court. Whatever you want is what I want. You don't even have to read it, and you never have to speak to me again. I just… um… goodbye, Castiel."

The British teen turned quickly, but Castiel called out to him before he could leave. "I'll read it, Crowley. Thank you."

Crowley turned for a moment. His eyes dropped to the table, where Castiel was picking up the letter with the same level of care that Crowley had placed it with. It was more than a letter, Castiel knew. This was Crowley's attempt at making things right. It was almost like it was his blood and bones. It was like his soul.

Crowley nodded, offered a smile, and walked away.

Castiel stared at the envelope in his hands for the remainder of the lunch period, but he couldn't bring himself to open it and read it. When the bell rang, he placed the note between two books in his backpack, and walked to his next class.

* * *

There were few things more awkward and horrible than breaking up with someone, but Dean thought breaking up with his lab partner almost took the cake. He sat in the back, next to an empty seat, waiting for Lisa join him. He was trying to think of how to break it to her delicately that with Castiel back, he really wanted to be his partner again. He really wanted to try and start over.

But she didn't walk back to him. Instead, she sat in the seat that Castiel had taken prior to his admission into Grace, and she turned her head to wink at him. "No hard feelings, okay, Dean? It's just that I have a secret crush on Chuck and I think this is my chance."

"What? What was that?"

"Nothing, Chuck," Lisa grinned, leaning a bit closer, resting her hand on the table with a grin. "Just go along with it."

Just as the bell rang and the teacher was shutting the door, Castiel ducked in. His eyes fell to Lisa, who was sitting in his seat, before they shot to Dean. His cheeks flushed slightly, his shoulders lifting with the breath he was taking, and Dean looked down into his notebook to hide his own blush. It didn't take more than a few seconds for the seat next to him to be pulled out, and when Castiel sat down and pulled out his notebook, it really felt like old times.

Castiel was clean, they were sitting next to each other in chemistry, and everything was right in the world.

But then, Castiel put something else on the table and pushed it toward Dean. It was a pack of M&Ms, and Dean knew he was smiling like an idiot when he ripped the bag open and dumped them on the table. It had been eight months – almost exactly – since this happened in reverse, but Dean was sure that it took him longer to sort the candies into colors than it had Castiel all those months ago. The teacher didn't seem to mind they weren't paying attention – he had Castiel's complete focus, Dean knew – but when the older boy went to push some back to Castiel, he looked up and frowned.

"I don't remember what colors you liked," Dean admitted, freezing at Castiel's wide eyes. He looked like he was in shock – like he couldn't believe that Dean would remember this – and he looked a little bit like he was in awe. Dean wasn't sure if he was going to be slapped or kissed, but in the end, Castiel looked back down at the M&Ms.

"I can eat all the colors now," and as if to prove a point, he grabbed a yellow one, popping it in his mouth.

Dean knew he was supposed to be playing it cool and keeping his distance. He knew that Dr. Fuller said that he had to tell Castiel everything – show him the notebook he had created about him – that they had to really grow as people and talk about it before they could jump right into a relationship again. And Dean agreed with him. He totally 100% agreed.

But he never felt like gripping the back of someone's neck and dragging him in for a kiss like he did with Castiel in that moment.

Instead, he let out a shaky breath of laughter and settled for that.

* * *

Lucifer would have never guessed it, but there was something peaceful about having his back pressed up a brick building. There had been a number of times that he'd gotten shoved against the school, but this had so far been the most enjoyable. Sam's fingers gripped his jacket on either side of the unzipped front and tugged him down, and the press of their lips together was something Lucifer would never get used to. The only way it could be better would be if Lucifer's fingers on Sam's hips could grip the material back instead of just resting there. But that would come in time.

Lucifer was back at school, he was kissing his boyfriend, he was stable for the first time in years, he was going to college in August, and he would probably get his hand working at full function within a year.

For the first time in a long time, Lucifer felt it was appropriate to close his eyes and give thanks.

When he broke free of Sam and opened his eyes, he saw Castiel was waiting a respectable distance away, looking up at the flag in front of the school. Lucifer grinned at Sam before calling to his brother, "Ready to go, Castiel?"

The dark haired brother nodded and walked closer to the pair. Sam pushed his face into Lucifer's neck and the older boy adjusted his arms so they were hugging. Castiel smiled at this display.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"I have PT today. Y'know, physical therapy. And Castiel has a group. Zachariah took our only car to work though and he won't get out until it's over so he can pick us up. We have to walk there. It's an hour walk, so we have to leave now," Lucifer said, trying to untangle himself from Sam.

"My dad gets out of work in half an hour when Dean goes in for the second shift. He'll give you a ride."

It might have been a testament of the hours and hours Lucifer and Castiel spent in silence while they were in Grace, but one look at his younger brother told Lucifer that Castiel was screaming _no_ inside his head. Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him, asking why and Castiel gave his uncomfortable look with a hint of hope and puppy eyes and Lucifer knew it as the Dean look. Lucifer looked back at Sam and realized that their time spent with Sam must have been quite a lot because he could totally read their looks too.

"Dean won't mind, Cas. You'll barely be there long enough to eat a sandwich. Plus my dad wants to see you. Dean's nearly got the Impala all painted and I bet he's so eager to get back to finish her he won't even notice," the smaller boy grinned then shouted, "Hey Dean, you don't mind if Cas and Lucifer come over for a bit so dad can drive them to their appointments. Otherwise it's an hour walk."

Castiel turned around to see Dean shaking his head. "Course I don't mind, but you're feeding us, Sammy. And I don't want sandwiches again. Seriously, this healthy eating shit is killing me. I'm a man. I need man food."

"You know, I think dad bought some stuff for Manwiches just yesterday."

The sound that Dean let out brought Lucifer to tears with laughter. He quickly wrapped his arm around Castiel's shoulders and started dragging him behind the Winchesters to their house. He was pretty sure his younger brother wouldn't move without the help.

* * *

It was awkward as hell, to be honest, but not uncomfortable. It seemed more like a side effect from a medication that made a person feel good for the most part: dry mouth, sweating palms, heart racing. Dean couldn't exactly say it was unexpected – his little brother was dating Castiel's older brother, after all – but it was unexpected a little bit.

Because the things they do together weren't usually things Castiel would do for fun.

Castiel and Lucifer might have only been over for half an hour the first night, but they came over every night after that.

They would light a fire outback and sit through the late afternoon until the cool May air turned into a crisp May night, and Sam and Lucifer would huddle together near the fire for warmth, leaving Dean and Castiel miles away on opposite sides, reaching out toward the flames as they shivered. They would sit inside with a meal John had prepared for them, Lucifer doing all the talking as Castiel pushed the peas around on his plate before eating the mashed potatoes in silence. They never drank – the medication the Novaks were on said not to take it with alcohol – and while Lucifer normally wouldn't have cared about such things, he was afraid of what he would end up doing to himself if he messed up. He took one look at Sam, sipped his water, and vowed not to mess up.

It was at one of Sam's baseball games on Thursday that Dean realized that it wasn't awkward hanging out with Castiel anymore. Well, it was only awkward because Dean had to fight himself at every turn to not reach out and caress his skin, but it wasn't awkward to sit near him – converse with him – this boy who sold himself for Dean, who would have given Dean anything and asked for nothing in return, who Dean knew inside and out.

This boy who Dean was still hopelessly, madly in love with.

They were sitting on the bleachers, Lucifer to his right and Castiel between the two of them a seat lower. The game was mostly ignored when the home team was up to bat – unless Sam was up to bat that is – and all attention was drawn to the outfield when the other team was up. Sam was fast as hell and had already caught two pop-flies because he had the speed to get under it. Dean would have liked to see his brother in a more illustrious role, like pitcher (Dean glanced at Lucifer and chuckled to himself) but he really was damn fast and outfield made the most sense.

Castiel didn't seem to understand the fundamentals because he kept turning to the seniors behind him to ask some sort of obvious question. How many outs did they have now? What was the score? Why was that hit called an out when nobody caught it?

Despite the fact that Lucifer would literally slit his own wrists for his brother, there were only so many questions he could handle before his answers turned sarcastic and then he started ignoring him all together.

"It's an infield fly rule. The shortstop could just drop the ball and pick it up, and instead of just getting the batter out, he could get a double or triple play by picking it up and throwing it to third and second," Dean's feet drummed on the seat next to Castiel. "Cause the runners have to wait and tag up on a fly. It's not really fair to the offence, so they just popped a rule on it and the runner's out."

Castiel stared at Dean with a degree of unashamed intensity throughout the explanation. Dean swallowed hard, but Castiel's eyebrows furrowed together before he opened his mouth. Whether it was to thank him or to set off on another string of questions, Dean would never know because Lucifer was getting bored.

"Hey Benny!" Lucifer called in a singsong. The look Castiel shot his brother should be illegal. "How's it hangin'?"

Benny had walked out of the dugout to grab a bat. He wasn't supposed to talk to the crowd, but he took a few steps closer to the three of them anyway. He was the captain and this was his senior year, so what were they going to do?

"It's called a cup, dumbass." Benny shot at the boy a glare, before letting his eyes scan over Lucifer's cohorts. "You know that brother of yours is really something," Benny said, grinning at Dean. "He picked the game up pretty fast. Why've you been hiding him away?"

"I wasn't," Dean shrugged. "He never wanted to play sports before some crazy guy with a southern accent refused to drink and went on and on and on about baseball instead."

Benny grinned, "Sounds like a charmer. And ruggedly handsome, too."

"Really?" Dean wondered aloud. "I thought he sounded more like a narcissist who was a closeted hopeless romantic."

The baseball player set Dean with a hard frown, snipping out (albeit a bit playfully), "There ain't nothing closeted about me, brother," before he finally let his eyes fall on Castiel. Castiel squirmed under the attention – he could count the number of people he'd kissed on one hand – and he remembered the moment Benny became one of them. Eventually, it became too much for the boy and he looked down, breaking eye contact. Benny took a step closer, hand reaching out to touch Castiel's knee lightly. Dean noticed that Castiel went stiff under the touch.

"I heard you've been doing a lot better, Castiel. I'm glad."

Castiel's head tipped up slightly, just enough to see Benny through his eyelashes. "I didn't have much of a choice. Involuntary stay and all that."

It had been the first time Dean had really heard Castiel talk about it. He had been so… hopeful. Castiel had gotten himself clean – he'd gotten himself help – but he was right. He hadn't had a choice. He had been committed and forced to deal with his demons. And that had been entirely Dean's fault. He sucked in a breath and felt Lucifer looking at him from over his shoulder.

"Modesty doesn't look good on you," Benny teased with a grin full of teeth. "And you did have a choice. Or at least you do now. You're not using. You're taking your meds. I can tell because with a little bit of inhibition taken away from you, you'd be jumping me again." He added with a wink before growing serious once more. "But really, Castiel. There are a lot of people who are proud of you. You should be proud of yourself."

The first batter struck out and there was a commotion from the fans around them. The second batter walked out of the dugout and onto the field. It was hard to tell the players apart when they had the hat on, but the number 2 jersey gave it away. Lucifer rose to his feet. Benny just grinned and started walking away, pausing only to throw over his shoulder, "I mean it. That kid has potential."

Dean stood too and shouted out, "Go Sammy!"

The younger boy turned and shot a nervous look at his three-man fan club before walking up to the plate. He ended up swinging at a wide one, then letting a good one go by. Dean was swearing under his breath – Castiel had stood up to place a hand over Dean's forearm to try and comfort him – but Lucifer yelled encouragement.

This time, when the ball came close to the plate, Sam stuck his bat out and the ball just dropped, rolling halfway between the pitcher and catcher, but Sam had sprinted to first before the other team could even pick the ball up. The three of them cheered – Castiel's hand left Dean to clap – and Dean couldn't believe how cold it felt all of the sudden.

On the first pitch with Benny up to bat, Sam stole second. On the second pitch, Benny hit it up – way into a hole in the outfield – and Sam made it home before the ball touched the infield. It was Sam's first score, and Castiel had to hold Lucifer back. He was that excited to reward his boyfriend. They fought for a second, an ill-placed shove almost had Castiel toppling out of the stands, and it was only when Dean shouted about how Lucifer could have hurt him that the two of them split apart and sat down like scolded children.

In the end, they settled on ice cream on the way home. It seemed safer than whatever Lucifer could end up doing to Sam in a dugout filled with older boys.

* * *

It hadn't been a rare occurrence for Michael to show up broken on Hester's doorstep, but it hadn't happened since his brothers returned home. The girl took him in her arms without question, nearly pulling him inside. But he didn't cry, and when they broke apart, he had a sad sort of determination on his face.

"What is it?" Hester asked.

"Are your parents home?"

"What?" she started, frown starting to form, but Michael just shook his head.

"Can we take the car? Can you tell your parents you're sleeping at Rachel's or something? I need to go somewhere," Hester looked mortified, but Michael stood his ground. "Please, Hester. I've never needed anything like I need this. I can't take our car – my brothers need it to get to work tomorrow – and I told them I was sleeping at Adam's. I'll pay for the gas and the hotel room. We can get separate beds, I promise. This isn't a plot to… you _know_ me. Please, Hester, I need to get to Pontiac, Illinois by tomorrow morning."

She did know him, but she kept her frown on her face and folded her arms across her chest for good measure. "What's in Pontiac, Illinois?"

Michael looked down at his bag, shifting awkwardly on his feet. The others didn't know Michael like she did. They saw him as a fearless leader who was determined to wipe out his brother's control over the children. But Hester saw a boy who cried himself to sleep in the nights after he kicked his brother out, who struggled with the decision even though he believed it to be what his Father wanted at the time. She had held him to her breast when he had been sick after he learned about his brothers in the hospital, and he was overjoyed to have them back. There was nothing Michael Novak cared more about than his family – it was the reason why she loved him, after all – and she couldn't imagine him leaving them with a lie.

"It's…" he paused, looking back up at her. "It's my dad. He's in Pontiac. I need to… I just need to…"

"Hey, it's okay," Hester said. "Just give me a minute."

It didn't take her long to pack up a change of clothes and leave a note, saying she was going to Rachel's. Michael took the first shift driving so Hester could call Rachel so she could cover for her in the event her parents called. Michael drove for hours, until his hands started shaking on the wheel and he couldn't quite control his breathing.

But Hester just instructed him to pull into the nearest McDonalds because she had to use the bathroom. If she took the wheel after that, then that was just coincidental.

* * *

Dean really thought about it. He really tried to remember a time when Castiel looked so frightened, but even in his worst memories, fear had never been Castiel's primary emotion. When he was lying in a bloody bathtub, he had smiled. When he was puking his guts out in the bathroom when Dean was forcing him to clean up the first time, he was a lot angry and a little sad. Even when Castiel couldn't sleep after a horror movie back when they were together, he didn't seem to be scared. He just stared ahead in the darkness, vigilant against the monsters that weren't there.

But now his eyebrows were turned up, eyes wide and his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. His lips were parted, his fingers twitching at his side like he was desperate to hold someone's hand for comfort.

Like Lucifer was gripping Sam's hand in front of them.

"This isn't a good idea," Lucifer said. Dean couldn't see his actual expression, but his voice gave a slight waver, and if Dean had to guess, he was as nervous as Castiel. Dean could understand Castiel's fear of going into the club. He had spent most of his time in there doing questionable things that ended up landing him in Grace. Sure, Lucifer had drank a bit, but Dean didn't figure it would be hard to say no to the alcohol.

It's not like he had to say no to the alcohol and the drugs and Crowley like Castiel might.

But then again, this was coming from the guy who nearly killed himself for his brother. His concern probably wasn't for himself.

"Sam?" Lucifer asked, a small voice full of trust. It had been Sam's suggestion they go to the club in the first place, and his little brother didn't seem like he was concerned for the Novaks. He just stepped forward, tugging on the hand that was connected to his.

Lucifer followed Sam, but Castiel paused for a moment, eyes darting from the back of his brother's head to Dean. They might have had a bit of a falling out recently, but Dean still knew the boy next to him. If anything, in their absence, Dean had tried desperately to commit every facial feature – every sound, every moment – to memory. Well, he had tried to forget. It just happened to have the opposite effect. And Dean knew the sidelong glance in his direction was a silent plea. Castiel needed help – he needed to make sure someone was watching out for him – and Dean nodded silently.

It was just a small thing, he wouldn't have been sure Castiel saw it at all if he didn't see the boy push a breath out of his lungs and nod back, turning to look at the entrance of the club once again. Dean let Castiel lead the way in, but he was never more than two steps behind him, and he vowed that his friend wouldn't leave his sight.

And that was easy at the beginning.

When they finally got to the bar, Lucifer was kneeling on top of it, leaning over, hugging someone on the other side. By the time Dean and Castiel sat down, Lucifer was completely over on the other side, and Dean saw that he had been hugging Ruby before. She reached across the bar to place her hand over Sam's while Lucifer wrapped his arms around Meg then Lilith.

He held his arms open to them, and the girls ran their fingers over his scars like they could take it away with just a touch.

It wasn't long before Lucifer was calling back over the bar and the girls were pushing Root Beers at him and Castiel. Meg leaned over Castiel when she served him, a grin on her lips that would be terrifying if Castiel had actually known that she was flirting with him, and Dean heard her murmur, "Can I see _your_ scars?" over the thumping music, and Dean had to fight back a snarl.

"I'll take a beer," Dean called, leaning closer to the girl, desperate to push her away as her fingers traced over Castiel's palm. "Thanks, whore."

Meg didn't even glance in Dean's direction. She just leaned forward enough so her boobs were about spilling out of her low-cut shirt, and Dean was momentarily stunned by her forward display, but Castiel didn't seem to notice. He just popped the cap on his Root Beer and gave a smile as a thanks. Meg didn't seem surprised – didn't seem to care she was flaunting herself to someone who would never pay her any attention that way – she just grinned back and turned her attention to Dean.

"Do you have ID, sir?"

"Are you kidding me, Meg?" Dean asked, adjusting his hips to grab his wallet from his back pocket. He started digging for his fake, but Meg just cocked her head to the side, grinning at Castiel.

"Sorry, honey. We're really cracking down on the fake problems, so unless you've got a real one in there, you'll be drinking the root variety with the Novaks."

Dean's mouth fell open, turning to look at Castiel who was trying not to grin around the bottle. The elder Winchester watched his throat as he swallowed, and he wondered at what exact point in his life he became fucked.

* * *

It was late when they finally pulled up to a motel in Pontiac. The look of disbelief on the guy's face when he asked for a room with two beds would have been funny if he wasn't so completely drained of everything. He felt like he would fall over any minute, he felt like he'd cried himself dry, and there was a pull on his chest that might be his arteries clogging from the McDonalds, but was more likely stress-heartburn. He just wanted to lie down on his back and catch his breath.

He felt like he was drowning. Somewhere in this town, his dad was alive and well, probably sleeping soundly without a thought of the kids he abandoned. He couldn't shake the thought of somewhere in this town, his dad was lying next to another woman, that he was tucking another kid in at night when Michael had been doing his damnedest to keep the fractured splinters of his family together. He was trying to be the tape or the glue, but he was just the bat that kept striking them over and over and he _needed_ somebody to help him.

Michael wasn't a father to his brothers. He was barely a brother to any of them.

"Hey," Hester whispered, a delicate hand on bicep brought him back. He was standing in lobby of the hotel, his girlfriend clutching the key in her hand and the man behind the counter was definitely looking at him like he was a panicky virgin on his wedding night. Michael felt the scowl on his face but couldn't control it, and Hester had spent enough time with him to know the best defense was getting him out of situation before he could throw a punch. She dragged him from the room like he weighed nothing, commanding, "Get our bags from the back. I'll get the door."

If Michael focused on small, singular tasks, he wouldn't think about his dad fucking another woman while his mother had rotted away in a mental hospital – while his brothers found themselves there as well – while Michael had ruined his family when he tried to save it.

By the time he slammed the motel room door behind him, Hester was sitting down on the edge of the bed closest to the door. She looked uncomfortable. She was a rich kid – a devout girl – and she would never have imagined herself in a run-down place like this with a boy. And she knew that wasn't going to happen, she knew Michael would never pressure her or try to take advantage of her, but the setting set the tone.

There weren't roaches, as far as Michael could tell, and the beds looked bleached, so at least they were clean. He sat their bags on the floor and walked over to his girlfriend. He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his, and brought them to his forehead. Hester would close her eyes – she would think he was praying – and Michael spoke up quickly to dispel the faith she had in him.

"I don't know who I blame more: myself or him."

"Don't say that," Hester hissed back. "It isn't your fault your brothers…"

"Yes, it is. How can you say it isn't? I broke my twin brother's arm, Hester. I _broke_ it. I kicked him out of the house. I watched him deteriorate – I would watch him in class and know he was getting bad – and I never apologized. I never asked him to come home. I made a mistake and I was too proud to fix it. And Castiel…" Michael dropped his forehead to Hester's knee. He dropped his voice too, and the girl strained to hear it. "You don't think we didn't know? Of course we knew. But he wasn't with us anymore, so what were we to do about that? Who turns a blind eye to that? It's my fault my brothers were almost lost."

"Almost," Hester said, tugging her hands free. He looked up, and she moved back on the bed, and then held her hand out to him. Michael pushed himself to his feet, crawling onto the bed after her on his hands and knees. The girl opened her arms, and Michael fell into her, letting her catch him. She guided his head to her breast as she laid back, her arms encompassing him, stroking his hair. His hands were pressed against his chest, careful not to touch her. "They were almost lost, but they are found now. They sleep at home. They eat meals with you; they talk with you. They've forgiven you of your misdeeds. You need to forgive yourself."

They stayed like that for a long time – Michael's cheek against Hester's collarbone, her fingers in his hair – and Michael might have been able to fall asleep like that. He was chasing it, the anger was dropping, the heartburn receding, but something changed. It started with a shift, Hester's hips moving closer to his own. He heard her mouth open, then close, then open again. When she finally spoke, her voice was lower than it usually was. It might have been with sleep, but somewhere at his core, somewhere deep inside his gut, he knew it wasn't with sleep. It was something else.

"That can't be comfortable," She murmured. "Wrap your arms around me."

Michael obeyed, shifting his arm so it extended over her stomach. It felt comfortable for a minute, but he drew his elbow back, opting instead to place his hand flat over her belly. Her shirt was thin, and he could feel the heat seeping through it. He let his hand drift up until he felt the bottom of her rib cage. He wanted to search for her heartbeat, but that would push him up too far. They had been dating for months, they had kissed – hellos and goodbyes and chaste things – but suddenly there was a temptation there. It was something Michael had repressed, forced down because he thought he had to, but he thought back to the night Lucifer had lost his virginity and for the first time, he wondered why.

Over four years ago, Lucifer came into their bedroom bragging about it, like he was Jacob stealing Esau's birthright. But something about that night changed Lucifer, so Michael guarded his purity like a precious gem – like the men of the church told girls to guard it – because if they should abstain, so should he. And he still thought that, even now, with his hand close enough to second base that he could take it before she could slap him. But he wouldn't do that.

If she abstained, he would abstain with her.

"Michael?" She whispered, like she didn't know if he was asleep. Michael made a sound, but didn't form words. "You'll be different after tomorrow. We all will be. We go to bed at night thinking we are one thing, but in the morning, we aren't the same. We make promises at night – prayers in the dark – of how we will be better, get up earlier, be healthier, but when we wake up, we're just as cold and tired as always. It's only in the night that we're free to dream of who we wish we would be."

"I don't understand," Michael shifted again, propping himself up on his elbow to look at her. One of her hands traced over his face, down his neck and shoulder and arm until her hand was flat against the hand he had touching her rib cage. "I don't know what you want me to do."

"Something big will change you tomorrow. There aren't many days in a person's life like this one. It's like what I imagine your brother felt, moments before he cut into his flesh. We could die tomorrow. Our bodies could parish, or our souls could change, killing the person we were to become someone new," Her hand pushed down into his. She looked down at them for a brief moment, her breath catching in her throat. When their eyes met again, something had changed. She looked hopeful and full of awe. "If tonight was our last night together because we would be fundamentally different in the morning, what would you do to me? What would you allow me to do to you?"

Her hand pushed against his, dragging her shirt up as their hands slipped under it, and Michael was too stunned to fight it. It wasn't like he was a thirteen year old cupping a girl's breast for the first time. Well, literally, he supposed it was. It was the first breast he had touched. And there was arousal, but it was a slower simmer to the trust. She pressed her hand into his again, angling his thumb to rest between them, his hand pressed over the lower portion of her breast. And he could feel it. Her heartbeat – pumping faster against the ribcage than it must have been two minutes ago – and he closed his eyes, a smile forming on his face.

"Hester," he tried, but the words weren't enough. He sat up, sat back on his heels, and reached behind his back, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. It took no time for him to yank it off past his head, and the second it was abandoned on the bed beside him, he reached for her hands. She sat up, legs folded neatly together. He pressed her right hand against his heart, his left hand covered hers. Moments later, her free hand was returning his hand over her chest. It took a moment to find her heartbeat with the angle and the underwire, but once he did, it felt like a completed circuit.

When they kissed, it was slow and tentative at first, but it grew more frantic and desperate by the heartbeat.

And maybe years later, Dean would make jokes about what Michael actually saw in Hester besides her salad dressing recipe. Michael would shrug it off, because of that night when she held him as he panicked and whispered words of encouragement. He would smile, privately, into the sandwich she had made for him, because despite all the years, Dean hadn't figured it out, yet.

Some people were just bound together, like he was with Castiel. Or like Lucifer was with Sam.

And Michael swore he felt her soul that night. And she felt his. And they were a perfect match.

* * *

It was getting kind of late, and Dean figured the whole posse should head home soon. After the first Root Beer, Lucifer switched to some sort of energy drink – the doctors never said he couldn't get hyper with his pills – and beta tested himself. An hour later when he was buzzing from the caffeine rush, he tried to get Meg to bring Castiel a Red Bull, but the younger Novak insisted he was fine.

"You're not fine," Lucifer yelled. "You've been in a mental institution for a month and you're depressing me just looking at you sit here at the bar sipping _Root Beer_. You're going to dance like you used to, Cassie. And you're going to like it."

"I was on a lot of ecstasy then," Castiel shot back, more annoyed than serious. "So if you just get me some from Crowley's office, then I'll dance with you."

"Nope." Lucifer had never really been a soda drinker, Sam had told them. He never really drank any sort of caffeine. And maybe it was around this time that they should have cut him off. Caffeine's a real drug that a person could get addicted to, right? People go through caffeine withdrawal, right? But Lucifer didn't seem to care. "The girls said Crowley sold all his drugs and he's clean now. He doesn't come in here anymore, really. He left them the keys to his office and told them to run it for me. Isn't that just lovely of them? Sam and I are gonna dance. You drink some of this shit and join us in a minute."

Two hours later, Castiel was still throwing back Root Beers (which were caffeine free, much to Lucifer's dismay), but the sugar still had an effect on him. He was talking to Meg about her adventures in whoredom, seemingly unbothered by the graphic details. At first, the girl had been uncomfortable, like she thought Castiel was setting her up for a joke. When she realized he was generally interested in the process of a person selling herself for money (different people, because when she grinned and said, "Didn't you do the same?" he responded with a despondent _that was different_ and wouldn't talk about it further), she opened up.

Dean was sort of fascinated, too. Maybe he didn't care too much about Meg demonstrating her precise wrist-movements when she was giving her famous blow job, but he did care about Castiel's reactions. Sometimes he seemed horrified, like when she told him about a guy who tried to hold her down by her throat, and other times he seemed disgusted, like when she gave descriptions about her actual lady parts and their responses to the good guys. But mostly, his face shined with pure curiosity and no judgment. It was a look Dean had missed seeing on the boy's face, especially when it was directed at him.

"Um," Meg said, interrupting a story about this gay couple that hired her to spice up their sex life – and Dean was thankful for the interruption because he doubted the story was actually true with the way she kept throwing pointed looks at him and Castiel – to point over Castiel's shoulder. "Your brother's coming back."

"Have you ever tried dancing when you're in complete control of your mental facilities? You realize you look ridiculous," Castiel complained, finishing his drink and passing the empty bottle to Meg.

She shrugged, "Most of us are usually aware of our stupid decisions. It doesn't keep us from having fun."

Castiel shot a look at Dean. "Hey, don't look at me," Dean grinned. "I've been wasted or roofied every time I've danced."

He had meant it to be a joke, but he couldn't tell if Castiel was taking it that way. He was kind of wound up on the sugar alone, he was annoyed with his brother, and he was probably getting hungry. Sober Castiel was a hungry Castiel after all. "I told you before I didn't roofie you that night. I gave you stimulants. And I didn't use the drugs to try to coerce you into sleeping with me that night either. We just made out for a bit, but it was consensual."

Despite the annoyance, Dean could tell Castiel wasn't actually angry. They never talked about the fact they used to be together – that touching and kissing and sex used to happen regularly between them – and if Castiel was willing to open the can, Dean could dish it all night. "It was always consensual, but if I do recall, you were a pretty forceful top."

Castiel flushed, somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed – and if Dean knew Castiel, a little bit of genuine worry that he had been too forceful – but instead of asking or retaliating, he just grabbed his brother's wrist when he leaned on the bar to ask for another drink and dragged him back to Sam. Dean watched them go, watched his own little brother cheer and hug Castiel when he got close to him – okay maybe Sam didn't really handle caffeine all too well either – and he watched the awkward shuffle that the three of them were doing.

For the most part, Lucifer and Sam weren't outward with their displays of affection in public. Right after Lucifer got out of Grace they had been – Sam pushed him against walls like the aggressor he secretly was – but things had cooled back off now. They held hands and stuff, an outsider could tell they were a couple, but they kept their distance.

Dean was pretty sure it was for his and Castiel's benefit more than anyone else's.

They were sort of in a triangle, none of them touching, with Lucifer and Sam doing great impressions of teenage girls alone in their room. Castiel was like their friend who couldn't figure out why screaming into a hairbrush and pretending to be a rock star was cool, and he shot a look back toward the bar with a shrug that could only be interpreted as 'what went wrong in my life. I used to be a drug addict and now I'm a loser. Seriously, how am I worse off than when I was a drug addict?' Dean snorted. The look was actually kind of adorable on him.

"When are you going to fuck him?" Meg asked, leaning against the bar, waving a little at the boy who was too far away to read their lips. "I know you're not fucking him now or he wouldn't have spent two hours talking about heterosexual sex with a prostitute."

Dean turned back to her. "I'm not going… I don't know what you're talking about."

"When was the last time you had sex?" She asked, offering a grin, but for once, Dean knew she wasn't making fun of him. He didn't have to answer. "It's been months. You broke up in, what, February? You've had three months to make friends with your hand again. He went from drugged out fucking to rehab. He wasn't wanking in there, Dean-o. He's still kind of in his rebound phase. He's starving for a dick right now. You're just being cruel to deny him."

"Why are you saying that?" Dean hissed, eyes narrowing. He turned back to look at Castiel. Dean knew the boy was kind of off-and-on at the turn of a switch. He almost seemed naïve or asexual until he was on someone's lap with a hand down their pants. And Dean wasn't really sure how much of that was the drugs. For the past week – well up until the past two hours – he had shied away from anything even remotely sexual. He didn't seem like he was all riled up. "You know you're a real bitch, sometimes. You don't think hanging out with him hurts me? You don't think that talking about that shit makes me regret losing him in the first place? Because fuck you, Meg. It does."

The song suddenly changed, and for a minute, Lucifer grabbed his brother's shoulder and shook him. Castiel looked pleased and when the whistling gave away to singing, Sam shifted closer to Lucifer. From Dean's angle, he could only see the brothers. They might have been twelve again, not a care in the world as they stood two feet away from each other, shifting and singing with grins on their faces.

" _Hello, wherever you are. Are you dancing on the dance floor or drinking by the bar?"_

"Aw, that hurts me, Dean," Meg was climbing over the bar when Dean looked back. She put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she hopped down. She kept it there once she righted herself, using her leverage to hover over him and lean down into his personal space. "And for the record, I wasn't saying that stuff to be mean. I was saying it so you'd get your ass in gear and fuck him already. Some of us are rooting for your happy ever after. If the two of you can't make it work, what hope do the rest of us have?"

" _And we don't give a fuck, cause that's just who we are…"_

Meg started walking toward the brothers on the dance floor, making sure she didn't obscure Dean's line of vision on Castiel. He had to take Meg's words with a grain of salt, he thought. There was no way in the world she was being genuine – she just wasn't that type of sentimental person – but he couldn't help but wish for his own happily ever after.

" _And we are, we are we are, we are we are the crazy kids, them crazy, them crazy kids."_

Dean watched Lucifer poke Castiel in the chest, over his scar, and he imagined years later, he would still go out to clubs if Castiel dragged him. He would watch him to make sure he didn't drink and mess with his pills, and he would watch as he twisted on the dance floor. The beat changed when Meg reached them, and she pulled Castiel to her in a fluid movement he didn't deny. He wrapped his arms around her hips and pulled her into him.

Castiel would spend a large portion of his adult life trying to convince everyone – Dean especially – that he was a boring person without the drugs. He lacked passion, he would claim, and conviction. And over the next few years, Dean would let Castiel indulge in his self-deprecation as long as it didn't get too harsh. But whenever he started, Dean would remember the way he moved with Meg on the dance floor, and he would know that wasn't the truth.

The drugs weren't what made Castiel fun and interesting back then. They just loosened up his reserves and let him do the things he wanted to do without fear of judgment. And that day, Dean swore that he would do whatever he needed to do to be that force in Castiel's life. He would be like the drugs; Castiel would never have to hold himself back in front of Dean.

* * *

Michael woke up feeling cold under the scratchy motel blanket, and when he opened his eyes, Hester wasn't there. He turned around to look in the other bed – it was still made up like it had been the night before – and for a split second he thought he had been abandoned until he heard the shower running, and faintly, under that, he could just make out the sound of Hester's voice as she sang, _"I could sing of Your love forever."_

Michael wasn't sure if she was capitalizing the "Y" or not, but either way, he rested his head back against the pillow and smiled.

Until he remembered why he was in a motel room with Hester in the first place.

By the time his girlfriend stepped out of the bathroom, he was anxious and angry – but he wasn't sure which he was more of – and he was hiding in the corner of the room with his knees up and his head down, rocking against the things he couldn't quite get a handle on in his head. He was irate; he had always had problems controlling his anger, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to control himself this time. He thought about beating his father within an inch of his life – to death if nobody stopped him – for what he left them to do to each other. But he thought about being abandoned and he was afraid that once he saw the man, he would wrap his arms around him and forgive him of his sins and beg him to come home.

And Michael didn't know which one was worse.

He didn't remember fighting Hester as she undressed him and started the shower for him, leaving him alone to take care of the rest himself. Later in the car, she would admit he did fight her in a sense, but he didn't hit her or hurt her. He just wouldn't move or cooperate. He didn't remember washing himself, dressing himself, or driving himself to the diner, either. Hester drove, but she told him the rest he did do on his own.

Michael didn't really remember sitting in the car outside the café on Fourth Street, or anything that was said when he tried to work up the courage to open the door, but Hester did.

"There are some shops around the corner, Michael. Call or text me when you're ready and I'll come get you," She ran a hand over his arm but he didn't look at her. "Michael?"

"What if I kill him? I think I want to kill him."

"You won't kill him," Hester hit a button and unlocked the door. She reached over her boyfriend and forced the door open, popping his seatbelt on her way back. "You're going to go in there, drink a cup of coffee and have a pleasant conversation with your father. Then you're going to call me and we're going home. Got it?"

"I don't drink coffee," Michael said with a frown, like every part of her plan pivoted on that one detail. Hester just rolled her eyes and pushed his shoulder.

Michael might not have remembered a lot of that morning, but after he shut the car door and Hester drove away, it was like time stopped. If he had an artistic bone in his body, he could close his eyes and paint a picture of the café with the right shading of the bricks – the perfect lighting from where the sun was peeking out behind the cloud – he knew a man on a bicycle road by wearing a yellow helmet and there were three birds on the telephone line. He knew exactly how many steps it took to get him across the street and how cold the brass door knob felt in his hand.

He knew his father was sitting in at a table in the back, even though he was looking down at a newspaper. There were a few streaks of gray that Michael hadn't remembered before, but he was wearing a suit just like all the ones he had back in Lawrence. It had been a year and a half, but Jimmy hadn't really changed at all.

But someone else had.

From the dip in his chin to the curve of his ear, everything about Jimmy made Michael question if he had actually stepped through a time warp and was looking at his younger brother with an extra twenty or so years on him. Castiel was thinner – he was a recovering addict after all – but seeing Jimmy like that… maybe Castiel did have a future ahead of him. Maybe they all did.

Michael wondered what his father would say when he sat down. He wondered what they would talk about. He wondered if he'd get any answers. For a moment, he hesitated. It's hard, sometimes, to think you know what you want. And Michael just hoped he would get what he needed.

So he walked over, his footsteps sure despite the shaking of his hands. He shoved one in his pocket and reached out with the other, clasping on to the back of the chair opposite Jimmy Novak to steady himself.

And then Jimmy looked up. Their eyes met, and his father stood, breathing out his name like a prayer.

"Michael."

* * *

Dean was just pulling his shirt off to get around for work when Sam knocked on his door. The elder brother dropped it to the floor. His dad would pick it up and do laundry tomorrow – how fucking awesome was that? – and called out to let Sam know it was safe to come in.

His younger brother came in carrying a duffle bag in both hands. Dean eyed it cautiously, before giving the younger boy an exhausted look that he hoped relayed how much he really didn't want to put up with his shit right now. He grabbed his work shirt from the back of his chair and pulled it on.

"You need to give these back to Cas," Sam said, dropping the duffle on Dean's floor with a dull thud. "He doesn't have enough clothes to last him the week so he's borrowing his brothers' crap and not returning it."

"What is it?" Dean asked, trying his hardest to seem uninterested, but he was failing pretty spectacularly. He finished up the last of the buttons before leaning over, scooping up the duffle by the handles and dropping it on his bed, but he knew. He knew what it was.

He unzipped the bag and pulled out the shirt folded on the top. The door shut behind him, and Dean turned to see that Sam had left. Dean brought the shirt to his face, taking a deep inhale. He expected it to smell like something… _something_ more than duffle bag, but the traces of Castiel were mostly gone.

There was something there, something faint left, but Dean didn't have time to focus on it. Instead, he went to work, thoughts of Castiel keeping him preoccupied for his entire shift.

When he got back, the duffle bag was empty and his floor was clean of his used clothes. John knew, okay? John had spent enough time around Castiel and Dean back when they were together whose clothes were whose. When Dean pulled back the second dresser drawer – the one where he kept his shirts – he saw that his dad had separated them: Dean's shirts on the left, Castiel's on the right.

All of his drawers were separated like that, like they were some sort of domestic couple. Dean's hands found the edges of his dresser and he held on for dear life. He let his head hang between his shoulders, puffs of air coming in and out of his mouth like he just ran a marathon.

Dean couldn't help the maniacal grin that split his face.

* * *

Michael shut the front door behind him quietly, with a small click, and leaned against it. He was exhausted, completely drained, and he wanted nothing more than to shower until his skin blistered and sleep all of Sunday away. He hadn't noticed his brothers in the living room right away, but he turned to look at them when he saw the TV was on.

It wasn't that same show about the werewolves that Castiel had been watching this week, but it wasn't any of his usual Investigation Discovery shows about people murdering each other, either. It was a family who were screaming over each other and there were subtitles on the screen, despite the fact it sounded like it was English. Castiel was sitting in Jimmy's chair with his legs crossed, a bowl of popcorn in his lap and a blanket over his shoulders, laughing at the fight.

It had been a long time since he had heard Castiel laugh so purely at anything.

Lucifer was on the couch next to Raphael – the older boy had his feet up on the coffee table, his hand on his knee, putting a clear coat of nail polish across his fingers – and when Michael turned his attention back to his twin, he held up his hands. Michael couldn't tell they were painted – it was clear polish after all – but he assumed that was what was different.

"What are you doing?" Michael asked, not unkindly, but perhaps a bit suspiciously.

"We're making ourselves beautimous," Lucifer responded. Castiel shot a grin at his brother, and Michael could see his eyes were shining with tears from his laughter.

"I can see those two doing it, Raphael, but you?" Michael asked, sitting on the arm of the couch next to his brother. It was pretty much instantly he knew he had said something wrong. Lucifer's look was furious and Raphael looked sad. He hadn't meant anything by _those two_ even if they were the gay two. He hadn't meant their sexuality had to do with them putting on nail polish. He meant the two of them were going backwards in age every day they got better, finally acting like teenagers again instead of crazy old men who thought their lives were over. He had meant it as a compliment to his younger brothers, and an innocent question for his older.

Michael was still trying to work out his apology, when Raphael capped the top back to the bottle and held his hands out to inspect them. Apparently satisfied, his hands went back to his knees, and he turned to Michael. He expected to get chewed out. He deserved it. But Raphael just shrugged – a little unconvincingly, to be honest – and said, "I think everybody wants to be… what is it, Castiel? Beautimous?"

The show came back from commercial, and the brothers watched in silence for a little while. The show didn't have a plot, but the family's uncle was coming to visit. The little girl hugged him – totally excited he was there – before Mama explained in a voice over that he was gay. The girl just said, "Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' gay. Everybody's a little gay."

Lucifer snorted, and Castiel smiled behind a fist full of popcorn.

Michael frowned. A six year old girl from Georgia knew something that it took him months to learn. He needed to say something. He needed to apologize and let them know he was wrong. But it just seemed awkward to bring it up now; he felt like they knew how sorry he was.

But he needed to do something.

"During the next commercial, will you paint mine?" Michael asked, looking down from his perch at Raphael.

Next to him, Lucifer snorted, then fake coughed, _"Poodle"_ into his hand, which sent Castiel into another laughing fit. That got Lucifer going and the two missed the next few minutes besides themselves. But Raphael just looked up at him. At first, he looked like he didn't believe it – like Michael was making a joke – but slowly, he started to nod. A smile even came onto his face.

Nobody but Hester even noticed he had a coat of nail polish on his fingers. The only response she had to it was a smile.

* * *

I was reading over the previous section, trying to decide if it sounded weird or not (or if anyone would get that show reference 10 years later) when Kali burst into my room. She had on a red cocktail dress, her hair was curled, and my breath caught in my throat. My roommate's girlfriend was beautiful, and she made me nervous. She never tried to hide what she thought of me – _Gabriel_ never tried to hide what she thought of me – and I stood up, more out of fear than a formal notion of chivalry. She snorted, raising an eyebrow at me, and giving me a very obvious up-and-down.

"Not bad, but you'll need a scarf."

"What?" I asked, somewhat in shock. It didn't seem to bother Kali at all. She just removed the red scarf from around her shoulders and threw it around mine. She pulled the open end through the loop over my black t-shirt.

"That'll do, baby," she winked and nodded toward the door. "C'mon, then."

"What?" I breathed, looking down at myself. It wasn't the type of scarf people wore when it was cold outside. It was the kind that the Novaks' girlfriends and Michael usually wore to make a simple outfit seem more extravagant. It looked out of place on me. I hadn't shaved in a while, hadn't even bothered to put my contacts in. I looked like a college hipster, but Kali just laughed, turned, and started walking toward the door.

"Gabriel's still hung over, and I need a ride to the bachelorette party." When Kali turned to look back at me, her hair spun, revealing her dark shoulder and a thin red strap. She grinned when I gulped and paused, holding the door open for me. "Don't worry, baby, you won't be the only boy there, I'm sure."

I wasn't sure if that was a joke about strippers or Castiel (or both, I guessed… see Castiel's adventures in pole dancing in chapter three for more details), but despite the fact Kali had done this three hundred times to get me to do something I didn't want to do, I still grabbed my keys and followed her out of my apartment. We were quiet as we drove toward the party.

It hadn't been a month since I talked to any of them, but I hadn't been interviewing. Instead, I had spent the last month and half fixing up the writing and reading the early chapters for continuity. In the end, it was too long for me to read again, too painful now that I knew them all. I invited Becky over to proof it all for me.

Gabriel didn't say anything when Becky snuck out in the mornings, and I walked half-naked and sore to the shower. But he smiled full of teeth and wiggled his eyebrows as if I hadn't gotten any before Becky.

And just for the record, I _had._

But my self-imposed exile in my room wasn't entirely just my fault. Lucifer and Michael had been in New York for the past month. Half a week ago, the rest of the Novak brothers met them there for their own celebration. All of them returned just yesterday morning, but most of them were in rough shape. Gabriel and Balthazar were both vomiting, and Michael couldn't even walk himself off the plane, Lucifer and Castiel had to drag him off. (This is because they had insisted on drinking on the plane to relieve their hangovers, sources say). The flight attendants had never been happier to land safely in Kansas.

Or at least, that was the story.

Sam had been going crazy with the wedding plans. Whenever I saw him, it was over seating arrangements and last minute calls to _everyone_. Jess was always running to the venue and the caterer and calling Crowley with last minute measurements. All three times I tried to visit him, he was on the phone with Lucifer – his voice soft despite the state of constant panic he was always in anymore – asking last minute advice when he and Jess couldn't agree.

Dean had started restoring the Bel Air and he wasn't much company when he was restoring. Castiel's classes (both the ones he was teaching and the ones he was a student in) were over for the summer, but when he wasn't tending to Byron, he was reading in the hammock or on the porch swing, watching Netflix inside next to the air conditioner, or helping Sam as much as he could. For once, Castiel seemed happy. And I didn't want to be the one who ruined it. We would go out to coffee, but we wouldn't discuss the book.

When I pulled onto the street, it was packed with cars. We had to park kind of far away from Crowley's Mansion – excuse me _Chez Bae_ – but Kali didn't complain. She just caught up to me and wrapped her hand around my arm, letting me guide her to the party. I hadn't really been invited but hopefully nobody would say anything about it. Kali knocked on the door and gave my arm a reassuring squeeze.

"You're family now, you know," she turned to look up at me. "They aren't going to say anything."

The big door opened and heat and music spilled from the house. Looking past, there were a handful of girls I didn't know very well drinking wine and laughing in the foyer. Kali dropped my arm and threw her arms around Jess. The woman hugged Kali back like they were old friends. She had her hair curled too; she had on makeup and a pretty dress and one of those tiaras that looked expensive.

"Congratulations," I said. Both girls looked at me, then started giggling. Jess looped her arm through Kali's and grinned.

"The boys are in the kitchen," Jess said with a wink, walking Kali into the living room. So I just walked in and shut the door behind me.

The music seemed to be pouring from living room where girls were singing and chattering happily, but I followed the other path into the kitchen. In the end, I wasn't sure what would have been the less confusing choice.

Byron had both his hands around a wine glass, holding it up to Castiel with a giant frown on his face. I knew it was Byron, there was only one kid that age that hung around with the Novaks, but he was wearing a dress. His hair was parted to the side and pulled back with a flower barrette, and if I didn't know better, I'd have thought he was a girl. Bela was pulling cookies out of the oven, and Castiel was leaning over the counter, ignoring his nephew, laughing with his own glass pressed against his lips. He was wearing jeans – the tightest pair of pants I'd ever seen the other man wear – and they were hemmed under his knee. More bizarrely, he was wearing a yellow cami that was stretched way too tightly over his chest and a black cardigan over it.

"Every time I ask Bale about the McDonalds around the corner from Majestic Theatre, he starts vomiting," Bela said, still laughing, too. She sat the cookies on the counter to cool and turned around.

"What are you wearing?" I asked before they even noticed I was there, then I motioned toward the little boy. "What's he wearing?"

Byron abandoned Castiel's side to walk over to me, glass still clenched between his fingers. He raised his arms to me, a small frown settling on his face and I had no choice but to pick him up and settle him against my hip. The boy held his glass out to me and declared, "Drink," so I took the glass and sat it next to Castiel. Bela looked like she was going to die from maternal bliss, but I just frowned at Castiel.

"It's a bachelorette party," he explained with a shrug. He stood and went to the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of apple juice. He poured a little of that into Byron's wine glass. "And I quote, 'The only men at a bachelorette party should be the strippers. So unless you want to strip, come in drag.' Don't talk to me, talk to the host." Byron picked up his glass and sipped, as Castiel poured more apple juice into his own glass. "Are you supposed to be dressed in drag? You look like douche."

"Be nice, Castiel," Bela said, but the tone was anything but warning and the grin on her face gave her away.

"So everyone here is dressed like a girl?" I asked, sitting Byron back down.

"Mostly everyone here is a girl. Most of my brothers couldn't make it and I'm only here to watch Lucifer. He's drinking tonight," Castiel raised his glass of apple juice to me with a small grin. "Just you, me, him, and Byron in drag tonight."

Lucifer and Castiel rarely drank alcohol, as it messed with their pills. On the rare occasion that one did drink, they usually took turns babysitting the other to make sure they wouldn't over do it or slip up in their inebriated state. There was a round of applause from the living room, and moments later Lucifer walked in. There is a difference between a man in drag and a person dressed as a typical street-walking, meth-head prostitute, and I knew that Lucifer knew the difference. Of the four of us, he had the most experience with cross dressing – had been the one to insist on the women's clothing only event, if I had to guess – but it was already ten and I had a feeling they'd already been going at it for hours. He was a hot mess in a skirt and some sort of corset-lingerie top that had to be killing his ribs.

He padded out to us barefooted, out of breath. He leaned against the counter, back heaving as he tried to catch his breath in the constricting garment. Byron frowned, like he recognized some part of his uncle but couldn't quite place him.

"What were you…" I started, but Castiel held up a hand and shook his head, and I believed him. I probably didn't want to know what he and fifteen girls were getting up to in the living room.

Lucifer rested his head on his arms on the table, turning to look at his younger brother, a frown settling on his face. "I miss Sam."

"Oh, God," Castiel replied. "Seriously, you cannot do this right now."

"I haven't seen him since I left for New York, Cas. I'm trying to have fun, honestly I am. And I'm trying to make it fun for the girls, but if I had to pick what I was doing tonight again, it wouldn't be this. I wish he were here. I wish I were there. I just want to see him. Well, okay, no… there are a lot of things I want to do to him, like…"

"What part of _getting married soon_ don't you understand, Lucifer?" Castiel hissed. He was shaking when he stood up, like he was getting sick of barely containing his brother's actions. We all figured the wedding would be a rough time for Lucifer; it's why his family begged him to take the Broadway gig to get him away from Kansas until the last possible moment.

Castiel grabbed a bottle of tequila that was sitting out, placing it near his brother before he grabbed a lime and began cutting it into quarters. Lucifer groaned, pushing himself off the counter. He was already pretty drunk – maybe not as bad as his brothers had been just yesterday – but he didn't need the shot to maintain. Lucifer dropped his head on Castiel's shoulder, a choked cry coming out.

"I just love him so much, Cas. Do you have any idea what it's like to love someone that much? It's like I want to die every second I'm not with him."

Castiel turned, abandoning the lime and knife on the counter to wrap his arms around his brother. "You know I do," Castiel replied, rubbing his back while Lucifer continued to murmur about Sam being happy for a few moments. Eventually, Castiel got him back on track with, "The party is fun though, right?"

"Yes. I mean, I guess as much fun as it could be without Sam," Lucifer said, moving back from his brother, rubbing at his eyes and smearing his make-up further. "I knew this would be a great place for it after your bachelor party here last year. Remember, Cas?"

"Unfortunately, not much," Castiel smiled, turning back to the limes. "I had a strict script I was sticking to, if I recall, but I had a lot more to drink then than you have had now."

"We'll have to remedy that," Lucifer offered, and Castiel nodded. Bela held up a cookie, taking a moment to rub Lucifer's back and he took it with a grin.

"This is the perfect place for a slumber party," she said. "Once we moved the couches back, there's a ton of space for sleeping bags and everything."

"I bet that's what you and Crowley really did here, huh, Cas? Just painted each other's nails and sang karaoke, right?" Lucifer asked, consuming his cookie and licking his fingers.

I thought the statement was harsh – rude even – but Castiel gave a half-smile, a fond thing, and said, "You're right. The drugs were just an act because I was embarrassed about the pillow fights and practice kissing and the girly panties."

"Who's embarrassed by girly panties?"

We turned, the five of us, toward the kitchen, but it wasn't hard to put the name with the voice. Dean wasn't dressed in drag – even in my head I couldn't imagine him in a dress – and Byron cheered, running over to him and grabbing his leg. Dean hoisted him easily, grinning at the kid.

"That's a pretty dress you have on. Did you want to look like your Aunt Luci?"

Byron looked at Lucifer again, like he still couldn't quite make the connection. "No Aunt Woocee. Aunt Kali. Aunt Wachel. Aunt Hester. Aunt Wa –"

"Luci isn't really your aunt," Castiel said, taking a sip from his apple juice. "He just likes to dress like a girl sometimes."

Lucifer grinned, his moment of devotion to Sam completely over with the addition of the man's older brother, and he said, "Bachelorette party, Dean. Girl's clothes only."

"How sexist of you. Girls can wear what I'm wearing," Dean pushed a strand of Byron's hair behind his ears before offering a grin, digging his thumb into the waistband of his pants and pushing them down off his hip just a little. Just over the jut of his hipbone was a flash of pink and satin and was gone in a second because Castiel cried out, abandoning the knife to turn on the water and put his hand under it.

Dean laughed, moving closer to Castiel with the boy still on his hip to look over Castiel's shoulder at the wound. The blood welled once the other man removed his finger from the water, and Dean opened his mouth to say some smart-ass comment, but a look of confusion crossed his face and something else came out, "Are you wearing perfume, Cas?"

"What? No," the dark-haired man grabbed a paper towel to press against his finger before he turned around. Dean didn't move back, and from my angle, they looked like they were basically pressed together. Castiel leaned back to try and get out of Dean's personal space, but the elder Winchester just frowned and leaned closer, smelling Castiel's hair. "Oh, I did use Bela's shampoo in the shower this afternoon. Before I changed into her clothes."

"It's Victoria's Secret," Bela grinned like she knew she was baiting Dean and it was funny. "It's called _So Sexy._ "

"Jesus Christ, Cas," Dean grumbled, low and deep.

"Jesus Christ yourself with those underwear," Castiel snapped back, and for one second, I felt my heart thump in my chest at the look they were giving each other before Lucifer whined about wanting to do his shot. Dean handed Byron to Castiel and moved back, grabbing one of the limes and handing another to Lucifer. Castiel escaped with his nephew, toward Bela and the cookies, and the silence that followed didn't seem heavy to anyone but me.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Dean?" Bela asked. "I thought you weren't coming."

"I wasn't, but Sammy is beside himself with worry at home and driving me crazy. He asked me to come over here and check up to make sure nothing was going wrong. I texted him as soon as I got here saying that I couldn't find Jess or Lucifer, but rumor had it they were fucking in the basement," Dean laughed. Castiel looked unpleased, but Lucifer offered a small smile. "He hasn't texted me back, so I assume he's got a nosebleed or he's dead due to heartbreak at the person he loves cheating on him with his best friend."

"That's cruel, Dean," Castiel chastised.

The older Winchester just laughed. "Cruel? That bitch had it coming. I was getting dressed for _my_ wedding when he came in and told me the love of _my_ life was escaping out the kitchen to run away to Europe."

"I remember that," Castiel said, a small, half smile playing on the corner of his face. "You stormed into the kitchen only to find your fiancé was trying to steal a small taste of the cake."

"And then the wedding started ten minutes late," Lucifer cut in with a grin, "because you couldn't keep it in your pants. Everyone was freaking out because they thought something had happened… well, something bad, anyway."

Dean flushed – just a little bit – but Castiel shrugged, "You're right. Perhaps Sam does deserve just a tiny bit of suffering."

Dean, Lucifer, and I took our shots shots – Dean helped himself to a beer in the fridge (and helped me to a glass of whiskey even though Castiel frowned at me like he was my baby sitter too) and Lucifer placed his hands on the counter to steady himself – before a song ended in the living room to another round of cheering and a handful of girls screaming, "Where's Luci?"

"My people await," he said with a grin, returning to vertical slowly. He was drunk enough that the bystanders could actually watch the moment he got an idea. His face lit up, looking happy and calm for the first time that I'd seen him tonight. He reached out toward Castiel, hand falling deftly on his brother's shoulder. "Hey, Cassie, you should come in there with me. We could do karaoke together. Just cause you're supposed to watch me doesn't mean you can't have fun yourself."

Castiel looked hesitant. Bela was nodding, I was shaking my head, but I couldn't read Dean's expression. When Castiel finally gave in, Lucifer cheered and dragged all of us to the living room.

As Bela had said, the couches had been pushed back to make room for twenty sleeping bags. Most of them were normal, but a handful looked like something little girls would sleep in – Disney Princesses, Dora the Explorer, and some new kid show that I didn't even know – and the women themselves were in various states of dress. Some of them had on dresses like Kali and Jess; others were wearing pajamas or lingerie. Lilith was doing Ruby's make up in the back. Hester was painting Charlie's toenails. Gilda handed both of the women a drink before sitting behind her girlfriend, a smile on her face. There were a handful of girls eating popcorn as they sat on the sleeping bags talking that I didn't know – they had been Jess, Sam, and Lucifer's friends at college – and Kali and Rafi were among them. I tried to find the most unobtrusive place to sit, but Bela grabbed my hand and sat me down in between her and Kali, and I wondered what I did to earn a spot between two of Byron's aunts.

I wondered if they referred to me as an aunt too, in private, because I lived with Gabriel. I wouldn't have been surprised. Dean walked back over to Hester and Charlie, taking off his shoes and socks like he was going to be the next to get a pedicure. Given the choice to follow anyone, Byron went with Dean, crawling up on Charlie's lap so he could talk to the both of them.

This whole party felt like I had gone through the Twilight Zone or something.

Castiel stood in the corner – the only man not spurred on by alcohol – while Lucifer sang karaoke for the audience of girls chatting on the beds. Sometimes they paid attention, sometimes they didn't. It wasn't really a concert or anything, and the karaoke was more background noise than anything. Kali started running her fingers over the back of my hand at one point, making Bela and Rafi giggle and making me blush, but I just tried to focus on Lucifer, and then Castiel when he was ultimately convinced to join in and live a little.

" _All I want to get is a little bit closer."_

To be honest, Castiel didn't look like he was dressed in clothes that traditionally had been labeled for a woman – at least, not in comparison to Lucifer – instead, he just looked like a guy who was well-dressed. Well, the dip in the cami was a little low, but I had seen V-necks on Balthazar that would have exposed more cleavage on a woman. But Lucifer relished in the skirt, twisting himself back and forth as he sang, just to feel a breeze on his thighs.

But Lucifer enjoyed taking the higher part. He wasn't singing in falsetto, not really, the voice was well within his trained vocal range, but he enjoyed acting the part.

" _All you think of lately is getting underneath me. All I dream of lately is how to get you underneath me."_

It wasn't until then that I leaned back and turned my head, looking at the people getting their nails done. Byron was still sitting in Charlie's lap, his feet on Hester's knees as she painted his toenails. Dean, however, had checked out of the conversation. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, with his shoulders kind of hunched. His mouth was open slightly, and his body shook with his breaths. He folded his hands in front of his mouth, hiding a smile, maybe, and I turned back to Lucifer fast enough to see that Castiel was starting to mimic his brother and get into it.

But nobody else was paying attention, not really. I was the only one who saw that he was looking toward the nail polish station.

I don't know how much longer after the song ended that the doorbell rang, but it couldn't have been more than two songs. After the one song, Castiel abandoned the singing to pick up his nephew. Dean's eyes never left Castiel, his leg jiggling up and down and his hands folded in his lap. I must not have been the only one to notice because Bela asked Castiel to grab another bottle of wine from the basement with a pointed look at a jittery Dean. The dark-haired Novak looked like he had been slapped in the face by someone he trusted, and it wasn't until then that I remembered that he only got over his anxiety of Crowley Mansion after Balthazar bought it. Before that, Castiel would drive around the block if he had to pass it. Once he was forced to go inside, the exposure calmed his anxiety, but he still didn't like to go to the basement.

The last time I had been in the basement, it looked exactly like it had when it had been Crowley's room. That was a year ago, but I'm pretty sure that was the last time Castiel had been down there as well.

Castiel looked betrayed and confused, until Dean's hand found a place on his shoulder and he said, "I'll go with you, Cas."

The confusion remained as Castiel shot a look at Dean – the other man raised his eyebrows with a pointed look – then another at Bela. I couldn't see the look she gave, but a second later Castiel was handing Byron to his mother and Dean was pushing Castiel toward the hall that led to the basement.

Lucifer stepped down after that song to talk with Jess. I couldn't hear what they were talking about in the corner, but I could guess by the frown on the man's face. Despite everything, the two of them actually got along pretty great because they agreed on one fundamental principal: whatever made Sam happy came first. The trio met at Stanford, Sam and Jess met the second day after move in, but the three of them became close second semester freshman year for Sam and Jess and Lucifer's last semester as an undergrad. Lucifer was the TA for a vocal class that Sam had signed up for just to surprise Lucifer.

And surprise him it did. TAs weren't supposed to date their students, even if they had already been dating for years prior. It had been the first time they had ever really fought about anything seriously. Jess had been Sam's duet partner. She had been the one to listen to Sam rant and swear and lament. She had been his shoulder, his anchor, their moderator. She had been the one to suggest the solution to the fighting – the one that Sam ultimately took – and she had been the one to deal with both of their heart-aching about what could have been.

Sometimes, Sam would joke that she was the reason he and Lucifer could still be in the same room together. Lucifer would just shrug.

I could tell that Lucifer was trying very hard not to give the same spiel to Jess that he had given to Castiel about loving Sam, but he looked like he was pretty damn close to failing. I think the doorbell saved him. Jess insisted she would get the door, but Lucifer just gave her one of the practiced smiles that Sam hated and wrapped an arm around her waist, but she was the one leading the drunk man to the door.

I followed – I'm not sure why, but I'm sure it was the same reason why kids formed a circle around two other children who didn't want to fight each other but couldn't back down in front of an audience – but I hung back against the living room door's jamb. I couldn't see who was on the other side because of the way the door opened, but luckily, Jess filled me in.

"Sam? You're not supposed to be here."

"I know," Sam's voice was shaking – I bet his shoulders were slumped forward in shame that he couldn't keep himself from checking in – and I heard him pause before he added, "Dean… I sent Dean, but he…"

"Yeah," Jess grinned. "I was going to call you and ask you to join but this guy's greedy."

"Please, don't," Sam whispered. "It's not funny."

"It's a little funny," Lucifer added, swaying on his feet. He leaned a little heavier on Jess. "Right, Sam? It's a little bit funny. Look at your hair, Sam. My God, I just want..." Lucifer made a move to reach out, but Jess held him back.

"Are you okay?" The concern in Sam's voice was touching.

"He's fine," Jess said, her grin turning into a frown. "You need to leave, Sam. You're getting your party in two days, alright? The fiancé is not supposed to try and break up the bachelorette party to make sure –"

"I'm not trying to break it up," Sam insisted. "I just wanted to see… I just wanted to talk for, like, two minutes."

"I'll talk to him," Lucifer said, the second the words left Sam's mouth. He tried to untangle himself from Jess and reach toward Sam. Jess kept a hand on his wrist and I could imagine Sam reaching out to stabilize him behind the door.

"What?" Jess asked. "Are you kidding me?"

"No, just… get back to the party, Jess. I mean, you worked so hard on it. I'll be gone like, five minutes. You don't mind, do you, Sam? You don't mind talking to me? Just for five minutes?"

"We can't talk to him, Lucifer," Jess said, trying to pull him back into the house. "He isn't going to die one night without us. He needs to go home."

Lucifer turned toward Jess, capturing both of her hands in his. "He's my best friend, and I haven't seen him in a month. Please, let me just have five minutes with him before we send him home. I'll do whatever you want me to do the rest of the night. Just name it."

"Fine then. You're going to strip for us."

"No," Sam whined. "Are you joking? Can't you get some other dude to strip?"

"Alright, Dean then," I couldn't see the look Sam gave to Jess, but she laughed and gave them both a firm look. "Fine, five minutes and that's it."

"Five minutes," Lucifer agreed. Jess shut the door once the pair of them stepped outside. She gave a small grin, and then promptly caught me rubbernecking. I tried to slide away and hide, but she just shook her head at me and walked back to the living room, leaving me standing at the door.

I walked to the window, moving the curtain in the foyer back enough to see Lucifer and Sam getting into the younger man's car. I didn't watch their moment, though. Instead, I let the curtain fall closed and listen to the music playing in the living room without Lucifer singing over it. Some of the girls were singing along, and I could see a corner of the room where some of them were standing and dancing along with the music.

For a while, I just leaned there, looking down at the floor. To be honest, I couldn't tell you what I was thinking about while I stood there. I couldn't even tell you if it was about my life or theirs, or even how our lives seemed to intersect now. All I know was that sometime later Dean was snapping his fingers in front of my face. A grin spread across his lips, his other hand was in the pocket of his jeans, and he had sweat on his forehead.

"I know what I'm supposed to, but I'm seriously not singing to you."

Dean just ignored me and asked, "Where's Lucifer?"

"In the car with Sam," I pointed behind me, even though the blinds were shut. Dean scowled, and I checked my watch. "He was given five minutes, and it's been ten, so…"

At that moment, I heard a car starting and driving off outside. A moment later, Lucifer was walking through the door with a grin not unlike Dean's plastered on his face. He looked at Dean, then at me, then he started humming. Dean rolled his eyes.

They didn't say anything about it, and when Castiel walked out of the bathroom down the hall and met their gaze, he frowned. The song switched in the living room and the girls giggled. Lucifer held his arm out to Castiel. His scars and tattoo were on display, and Castiel walked to him, letting his brother wrap his arm around his shoulder and lead him back into the living room. Dean turned to look at me before he followed the pair of them. Even though the brothers were in front of us, I could hear both of them singing.

" _Cause your sex takes me to paradise. Yeah, your sex takes me to paradise and it sho-o-o-ows. Yea-ah-yeah."_

The difference in both the Novaks was noticeable. Lucifer didn't grab the mic, but he dragged Castiel into the center of the group of girls. They parted like the Red Sea, but left us behind like the Egyptians. Despite the girls singing and dancing, I could hear the brothers in the center.

" _Cause you make me feel like I've been locked out of heaven for too long."_

Dean elbowed me, causing me to stumble forward. Because I am the most unlucky person in the world, it was Kali who caught me. She righted me and promptly turned herself around so her back was to my front. Bela was beside herself laughing, and Dean pushed past me, past the sea of drunken women, to join the brothers in the center.

I was trying to focus on anything but the way my best friend's girlfriend was dancing with me. I knew Gabriel wouldn't mind – he never fucking minded; in fact, he thought it was hilarious – so I focused on my friends. Lucifer was dancing with Jess, lifting his arm to spin her around. She was laughing, placing hands on his chest and grinning up at him. Ruby was near Lucifer, her arms wrapped happily around Lilith, the blonde's pressing back into the other girl. Charlie and Gilda weren't in the circle of dancing girls. Instead, Charlie was pushing Gilda's hair behind her ear, a soft smile playing on her lips. The other woman closed her eyes, resting her forehead against Charlie's before pressing their lips together. I didn't want to ogle their moment, so I focused on Kali's hands on my hips once again.

When the chorus ended and the song resumed its previous beat, I didn't know the shuffle dance that they all seemed to know, but it wasn't hard and Kali guided me. It was swaying mostly – right, left, right, left – then a slight bend as you swayed left that final time. When the beeps were happening, you did the same thing lower, but stood back up on the third beat.

I was mostly focusing on the dance, but I didn't miss the way that Dean didn't know the dance either. Castiel was gesturing to himself, and I could read enough of his lips to know he had stopped singing and was trying to count the beats for Dean. Despite this, the elder Winchester brother stumbled, a beat late to the lower part and swore. It wasn't until the last two rotations of the song that Dean managed to get the dance down. He looked proud of himself for a second before the song changed to the next one. Then he looked horrified that it had been for naught.

Castiel just patted Dean's shoulder in a half-proud, half-sympathetic way, before used that hand to steady himself as he doubled over and laughed.

And at least to me, Dean looked like he was prouder of himself for causing Castiel to laugh like that than learning the stupid dance to begin with.

* * *

Lucifer tried to stay in bed at night. He really honestly did. Most nights he fell asleep pretty easily. His medication didn't really make him all that drowsy, but his own bed was a huge step up from the mattress on the floor of the Church or the cot in Grace. Some nights he got to thinking and once he heard Michael's breathing even out, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep.

If Michael was asleep, he wasn't watching out for him. Lucifer trusted Castiel to wake up if he was needed.

Lucifer wrapped his blanket around his arm and lifted his pillfow and the teddy bear that had followed him through all of it and tried to sneak as quietly as he could out of their bedroom. He probably should have heard the difference in breath, but he didn't. Instead, he only paused with a hand on the door when he heard Michael ask, "Would you sleep better if Castiel and I switched rooms?"

Once, Michael had beaten him up so badly that he broke his arm. Once, he had kicked him out of the house for trying to kiss the only person he'd ever really loved. Once, they had been sworn enemies with half the school displaying colors showing their loyalties. They had been kings, once. Rivals. Nemeses.

And now his twin brother was offering to give up his bed for another brother to help him sleep at night.

"It isn't you, Mickey," Lucifer whispered, turning away from the door. "It's not that I don't love you. It's not that I don't trust or –"

"You don't trust me," Michael sat up, wiping the back of his hand against his eyes. He didn't sound upset, he didn't sound particularly hurt, he mostly just sounded tired. "I don't blame you. If there's one person in the world you have a right to hate it's me."

Lucifer dropped the pillow on the floor next to Michael's bed and draped the blanket over his shoulders. He moved to sit down, but aborted an attempt on the bed and just crossed his legs on the floor. There was a difference between them now – a height difference – and it seemed like it had always been this way, despite the fact that Lucifer had never been shorter. It felt like all those times when they were kids when Michael was preaching and Lucifer would follow. It was like when they used to play The Fall with Michael up on top, kicking and pushing Lucifer off the playground and into damnation.

"I thought I would hate you – I hated you for a long time, to be honest – but I don't anymore. You were just doing what you thought was right. I mean, a really archaic and homophobic thought that turned out to be the worst decision of your life, but still you were following your wrong heart and I don't blame you for that anymore."

Michael frowned for a moment before he saw the grin on Lucifer's face. The dark-haired twin rolled his eyes and threw his blanket back. It didn't take them long to fall into it like they had plenty of times in the past. Their sheets were tucked into dressers; their desk chairs held up the other end. They found more to cover up the walls, and then climbed inside. Blankets and pillows were thrown down in the middle, then the twins themselves collapsed in the fort they had made a thousand times when they were younger.

"I was wrong," Michael whispered, after their breathing had resided and they were wrapped under their separate blankets to combat the cool breeze from the open window. "And I'm sorry, Luke. I was a dick. I was a great big bag of dicks. You came to me and asked me to stand with you, and I casted you out. I can never forgive myself for that."

"I already have," Lucifer added sleepily, eyes sliding open just a sliver. He worked his fingers around the teddy bear, trying his damnedest to squeeze it with his injured hand. He saw Michael watching him, but continued to do it. He was sure he was going to get control over them again. He was positive.

"I need to confess something else, too. And I'm sure you won't forgive me for that."

"Jesus says to forgive, so I will. That's what you'd want, right? So I forgive you." Lucifer smirked, his eyes falling shut again.

"I talked to father, Luke."

"Aren't you supposed to talk to God?"

"No, I mean _our_ father. I mean Jimmy."

Lucifer's eyes shot open, but forgiveness wasn't the first thing on his mind. There was confusion and hurt and rage, because how many times had Lucifer called? How many times had he _begged_? And James Novak wouldn't pick up the phone for him, but he'd pick up for Michael?

"Castiel looks just like him."

"You _saw_ him?" Lucifer demanded. If he was wounded before, he was bleeding out on the floor all over again now. His good hand reached across the divide and grabbed Michael's. "You saw…"

"Yeah, I went to him 'cause I was just so mad, you know. I wanted him to know what he'd done to us – what he'd done to you and Castiel – and I just… I'm sorry. I can't really…"

"You don't have to. If I never had to talk about my stupid fingers again it would be too soon."

They were quiet for a long while. Michael was on his back, looking up at the fort they had made, but Lucifer was on his side, palm up, fingers clasping at Michael's hand. In the moment they were quiet, Michael's fingers wrapped back around Lucifer's, and he remembered what a comfort they used to be to each other. They were closer than brothers. They were twins.

Michael waited almost fifteen minutes before he spoke again. This time, it was Michael who waited until he heard his brother's breath evened out until he dared to say what he meant to say.

"I think it's going to be really different around here, soon."

But they were twins, after all. And one could never pull a quick one over the other. Lucifer responded by murmuring something unintelligible, and it wasn't long until they both were asleep.

* * *

It had become somewhat of a pattern for Castiel for the past week – picking up the envelope Crowley had given him, turning it over in his hands, tracing his fingertips over the ink, noting the slant of the letters and how delicately Crowley had printed his name – but he couldn't open it. The envelope was sealed, and Castiel had cheap, plastic letter opener in his desk drawer, but he couldn't do it. He could never seem to make that first cut.

He was afraid, and he couldn't explain it. Fuller had asked him to try once when Castiel was still admitted at Grace. He asked him again when Castiel told him about the letter he couldn't open, but he still couldn't explain it.

He didn't know what Crowley meant to him.

Crowley was more than a drug dealer to Castiel; he had been his friend. He had taken him to London to meet his family – they had traveled Europe together – and he'd bought him an expensive suit. Crowley bought him things and brought him drugs when he thought he needed them. If there was one thing Castiel knew about Crowley, it was that his faults came from misplaced love.

Sure, it was wrong. Most friends don't have the terms and conditions of a loan involve repayments in sex. Most friends don't offer drugs to a recovering addict to make their last night together special. Most friends don't match pill for pill and shot for shot and punch for punch and fuck for fuck, but Crowley did.

Most people wouldn't call that a friendship, but it was. They were friends – hell, they were lovers – and while Castiel could firmly say he never loved Crowley like he once loved Dean, it didn't mean he didn't love him.

Because he did. He fucking loved Crowley like they were soldiers in the same battalion or like the British teen had part of his soul. Cutting out the drugs meant he had to cut out his friendship like it was a cancer, and it hadn't been all bad. That was why he couldn't explain it to people. That was why it scared him. People couldn't understand that it wasn't all bad. When it was good it was great. Crowley fed him things that made him feel great and he loved him when Castiel needed the attention.

He knew from the other junkies in his group that it was a classic definition of an abusive relationship, but it was more than that. The abuse went both ways.

Toward the end – after Dean and Castiel broke up – he knew he had been awful to Crowley. Castiel left more bruises. He remembered once when they had counted them after a fight once they were high and docile. Crowley had attack wounds; the only marks on Castiel came from when Crowley was trying to defend himself. He remembered the insults he would hurl at him – cruel things about how Anna hadn't loved Crowley's mom just like Castiel didn't love Crowley. He had taken Crowley's love and twisted it. They broke each other. They decimated each other.

Castiel wasn't sure if either of them would ever be able to pick up all the pieces.

He was afraid what was inside the letter because he was afraid of the next step in their relationship. If he hung out with Crowley, he would use again. Castiel knew that. He knew that he wasn't stable enough right now. He couldn't be sure who would break their sobriety first, but if they were together when that happened, they would both crumble.

Castiel had been down that road. He didn't want to go back to that. They both deserved a chance at a happy, sober life and right now, that life couldn't include each other.

The letter was an unknown for Castiel. He didn't know for sure what Crowley wanted in their future, but he could guess. He just didn't want to hurt him. Castiel just didn't want to hurt anyone ever again.

In the end, Castiel ripped open the top of the envelope with his fingers, reading over the pages too quickly. He had to keep going back and read parts over. He had to keep rubbing his eyes. He had to keep stopping and breathing, holding onto the desk because if he didn't, he would go to Crowley right now. They would fall into bed and back into drugs.

And for once in his life, Castiel wanted to stay clean for himself.

The letter was conversational. Crowley talked about his father in London and his mother giving up the fight against drugs. He talked about how he wanted to see him while he was in Grace, but they wouldn't let him in. He talked about how he'd sold all his drugs but wasn't sure what to do with the four grand.

But, to Castiel's surprise, for over half of the letter, Crowley talked about Dean.

He talked about seeing Dean in school and how awful and sick with worry he looked. He talked about seeing him at the club, drinking alone, ignoring every advance someone made. He talked about a conversation he had overheard between the Winchesters in which Sam was comforting Dean about the likelihood that Castiel would eventually forgive him for all the shit Dean had put him through.

Crowley told Castiel that Dean missed him.

The ending of the letter followed the form of the rest of it: with a surprising confession.

_After graduation I'm leaving Kansas. There isn't anything left for me on this side of the rainbow. I can't watch my mom kill herself anymore, and I can't watch you go on and be happy without me. And you should, angel. You should do what you got to do what you need to do and take the time that you need to so you can be happy with yourself. And one day, you will be content, and when you look up, Dean will be there. And far away, I'll be happy for you._

_And I won't blame you if Dean won't let you invite me to your wedding._

_Always,_

_Anthony_

Things were different now. _They_ were different. And when Castiel frowned, wiping his eyes one more time, he got out a sheet of paper. Crowley had used the space to converse with Castiel. He had long, rambling sentences and poor grammar at times. But it was okay. _This_ Castiel could do.

He addressed the letter to Anthony, but signed it with Cas. They were different now.

* * *

Maybe there did need to be one epic showdown. The whole ending of this story seemed kind of boring and anti-climatic – not for most of the people involved, mind you, they were all very happy to have boring lives for once – but there were a handful of die-hard loyalists who felt the other side got off too easy. Meg, for instance, was pretty vocal about how Lucifer should make Michael grovel before he went back to him. Hester was hesitant at first, too. She thought Lucifer and Castiel were both insane and unforgiving of their past sins, but Michael kept his troops silent with a look. And Hester did come around eventually.

Most people did.

But one person didn't.

Adam stopped going to Michael's miniature sermons in the Novak house after the second time that Lucifer and Castiel attended. The first time was awkward, and the two of them mostly sat by themselves quietly. The second time they were far more comfortable in their own home, holding the hands of the other worshipers and consuming the same food that Michael had put out. Neither of them talked in group about their sins, so they seemed unrepentant. Adam was sure that they were only staying so they could destroy the good Michael was doing from the inside.

He expressed his fears to his friend, but Michael didn't believe him. So Adam left.

Adam tried desperately to find a place to put the blame. Somebody had ruined Michael. Someone took his strong, virtuous friend and found a way to open his heart to the evil of Lawrence. Someone played with his heart and convinced him to take another chance. Someone had set him up for hurt.

He was sitting under a tree in Stull Cemetery when he noticed them. Sam was leading the way through rows of graves, his hand clenched tightly around Lucifer's, and the blond boy was looking put out. He didn't want to be here, but Sam was dragging him along anyway, shouting, "Michael will be here soon. We're going to miss our chance to do this."

Adam was tired, and maybe that was it. Maybe he was tired and hungry and worried about Michael, but for some reason – to this day he doesn't understand what made him think it – he was convinced that Sam Winchester was up to no good.

And the thought just drifted into his head like it had been planted there. In a matter of seconds it took root and started to grow. As each little branch formed, Adam saw the picture more clearly. Maybe Lucifer and Castiel were trying to change. Maybe they weren't the problems.

Maybe it was the Winchesters who led the Novaks astray.

Here was Sam dragging Lucifer through the cemetery up to no good. Lucifer didn't want to be here. He was resisting. And it was Sam. Sam was the one who won the fights against the other kids to earn his rightful place as Lucifer's general in the army against Michael. After the fight, the kids at school whispered the general's new nickname behind his back like a promise or a prayer: the Boy King.

It was Sam who got Lucifer kicked out of the house in the first place. It had always been Sam. Adam stood, feeling drunk with righteous fury and followed the couple through the graveyard.

They didn't notice him behind them, and then they stopped at one of the graves with a headstone on the newer side of the cemetery. Adam stayed back, just on the other side of a pine tree, trying to figure out his next move. What could he do to get rid of Sam's influence over Lucifer?

Michael showed up out of nowhere, and his brother turned to look at him. Lucifer took a breath, like maybe he hadn't expected his brother to show up, and said, "It's good to see you, Michael."

Michael nodded, a schooled look on his face. "You too." He nodded down toward the grave and then looked back up at the couple. "It's been too long."

"Can you believe it's finally here?"

Michael walked closer to his brother, calculated, hesitant steps, "No. Not really. Are you ready?"

Lucifer's face fell, his body giving a few aborted gestures before he leveled himself again. "As I'll ever be… a part of me wishes we didn't have to do this."

"Yeah," Michael said. "Me too."

Adam expected Lucifer to question it – question why they were here – but he didn't. He just nodded once more. Lucifer turned his back on Michael, entwining his fingers with Sam, but the elder twin just walked to them, put a hand on his brother's back, and they walked toward the grave.

And maybe Adam was just tired, but he thought Michael was joining them. Michael was giving up the fight. And that was why Adam stepped out from behind the tree and asked, "What are you doing?"

The three of them turned to look at him, shocked looks on their faces. The twins looked at each other, but Sam stepped forward and spoke up. "They're visiting their mother's grave, Adam. Her stone just came in. Show some compassion."

Adam took a few quick steps forward, stopping between Michael and Sam, with Lucifer still behind his boyfriend. He was furious. A look at Michael told Adam that he must look half crazy. He pointed his finger at the younger Winchester, trying to push Michael behind him with his other hand. "You don't get to tell me what to do. I am doing the good thing here. I am the one trying to save my friend."

"Save him from what?" Sam asked, taking another step closer. The brothers were separated by their younger friends. Behind Sam, Lucifer was looking toward Michael, a frown on his face, asking for guidance. Adam couldn't see Michael's response, but he could see the aggression building in Sam. He was putting himself between Adam and Lucifer. He was acting like a wall or a barrier to his friend. He looked ready to fight, ready to defend him.

But Adam was ready too.

"From your sin. From your filth and decadence. From you and your devil."

Adam heard Michael start a protest behind him, but Sam beat him to it. If Adam thought he was filled with righteous fury he was wrong. Sam came at him, pointing at the ground. "God made everything, which means He made me who I am. And if you think that who we are and what we do are evil, then God _wanted_ the Devil."

Lucifer warned Sam in tune with Michael warning Adam. It was enough to keep either of them from striking, but Sam shifted his feet into a position where he could throw a punch, his fingers balling into fists. Adam took a breath, a frown settled on his face, trying to seem like he wasn't scared of the boy in front of him. He had practiced fighting – he had beaten Jake once – and he had grown taller since then.

It was Lucifer who spoke up and reignited Adam's fury. "Let's just walk off the chess board."

Adam took a step back, rocking, before he licked his lips and mirrored Sam's position. "I'm sorry… I can't do that. God is my Father, and I am a good son. I have my orders."

"You don't have to follow them," Lucifer tried, looking toward Michael again. Looking for help.

"I am not like you," Adam hissed. "You haven't changed a bit, Lucifer. You blamed everyone but yourself. You betrayed your family, and you made your father leave."

Lucifer pushed forward, but Sam stayed in front of him to keep him back. He could hardly make a fist. He couldn't throw a punch. Adam felt Michael's hand close over his wrist and yank him back. Michael pulled him against his chest and tried to wrap a hand over his mouth. In his ear, Adam could hear his friend murmuring, "That's enough."

"Nobody makes dad do anything," Lucifer yelled. "He did this _to_ us."

Adam bit, and Michael had to take his hand away with a gasp of pain. "And you're a monster, Sam. For taking advantage of him. And I'll kill you."

Sam just snarled, "I'd like to see you try," before he lunged forward. Adam was still being held back by Michael, so the first shot was easy. He aimed for the stomach even though he had perfect access to his head, and Adam cried out. Michael stumbled backwards with the force, releasing the younger boy.

It was about the time when Adam had his arms wrapped around Sam's middle, tackling him to the dirty ground, that he heard Michael scrambling back to his feet. "Lucifer, get them apart."

"I can't! I…" Lucifer closed the fingers on his right hand around Adam's wrist. He barely had the strength to hold the punch back. His other hand was at his stomach, protecting the still wounded arm.

It was Michael who dragged Adam off of Sam, but Sam got up before Lucifer could pin him down. In an instant, Sam was on top of Adam. The smaller boy tried to defend himself from on the ground – he was sure he got a couple of punches in before Sam hit him so hard he was sure he had blacked out – but then Sam's hand froze above his head, looking to the side with a somewhat confused expression on his face.

Adam wasn't sure how long they had been sitting like that when someone had pulled Sam off of him. He was trying to sit himself up, when someone grabbed his arm and hauled him up too. His hands were forced behind his back, and he was handcuffed.

"Stop," Michael was yelling. An officer was behind him too, his hands were restrained, but he was trying to throw the cop. He was trying to get to Lucifer, who was being approached by another officer. Sam was already sitting in the back of the cruiser. "Stop," Michael repeated. "His arm is hurt. He wasn't fighting. Leave him alone."

In the end, the two officers called for another vehicle to transport the hooligans down to the station. Against logic, the officers threw all four of them in one cell. Nobody else was in the other cells, but this was just the police station. They usually took the more serious criminals from the precinct right to the county jail.

The fire had gone from Sam's eyes, so he mostly just sat in the corner with his head down. Adam took up the other corner. This time, the twins sat themselves on the floor between the two to preemptively stop any altercation that could happen.

It was quiet for a long time, until Lucifer leaned back on his elbows, grinned at Michael, and sang, _"Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage."_

Michael laughed. Sam didn't move. So Adam just drew his knees to his chest and put his head down, waiting for his mother to get out of work so she could come get him.

* * *

Bobby and John were both working on cars for actual customers, so when the phone rang out front, his employer yelled, "Can you get that, Dean?"

Dean was basically watching the paint dry on the Impala anyway, so he stood, left his book next to the car, and jogged to the lobby. It might have been the fifth or sixth ring when he finally answered.

"Oh, thank God, Dean," Sam breathed on the other side of the line. "I thought nobody would answer."

"Too good to call my phone, Sammy?" Dean smirked, resting his arms on the counter.

"No, sometimes you keep it on silent at work and I needed to make sure you got this, Dean. Listen to me."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I mean… well, I need you or dad to come pick me up."

"Alright," Dean frowned, straightening himself up. "Where?"

"I'm at the police station. I got in trouble for fighting and I have to be released into the care of an adult because I'm underage. There's no actual bail or anything, but they want someone to come get me as soon as possible."

"Alright, Sammy. One of us'll be there in a minute," Dean heard Sam sigh on the other side. "Did you at least win the fight?"

"Dean…"

"Alright, fine. See you soon."

Dean wasn't exactly sure how to break the news to his father, so he decided to grab the keys to his dad's car and yell, "Be right back! I'm bailing Sam out of jail," from the lobby.

He laughed when he heard John and Bobby yell, "What?" at the same time.

* * *

The phone had already rung twice and nobody was coming to get it. Castiel yelled, "Michael!" before turning up the volume on the television. When nobody came when it rang again, Castiel tipped his head back over the arm rest on the sofa and yelled his brother's name again, this time louder.

By the forth ring, he figured he was home alone and was trying to decide if answering was worth stopping the interruption or if he should power through so he wouldn't have to miss even more of the show talking to whoever was on the other line. In the end, he threw his blanket back (dramatically, with a long-suffering sigh) and padded over to the phone, answering with a very friendly, "What?"

"Hey, Castiel."

"Seriously, Lucifer? Potsie was singing."

"So what, I interrupted you jerking off? Who seriously jerks off to _Happy Days_? And to Potsie Webber and not the Fonz. The Fonz is a sex _symbol_ , Castiel… what? Wait, Mickey; stop!" There was some shuffling on the other side of the phone and Castiel moved away from the receiver and saw that the show had gone to commercial.

"Castiel, this is Michael."

"Thank you," Castiel said, rolling his eyes. "I can't hear the difference in your voices."

Michael ignored his sarcasm and continued, "We're at the police station. They're holding us until someone comes and picks us up. We're adults, so you can come get us as long as you take us right home. Okay? Will you come get us?"

"I'm pretty sure Dean dressed up as Fonzie for Halloween," Castiel heard Lucifer yell in the background. "And nobody ever dressed up as Potsie because he's lame."

"I'll come get you," Castiel said. "But if Lucifer says even one thing about _Happy Days_ , I'm leaving his ass in jail."

"No, you won't," Michael said, and Castiel could hear the smile on his lips. "But thank you, brother. Please hurry. I think he is driving Adam insane."

"Alright, be right there."

It would take twenty minutes to walk to the jail, and Castiel didn't have a car or a license. Maybe when he got there, he would call Sam and ask him if his father could do them a favor. He hated to put John out like that – he hated to ask for anything – but maybe if he asked for things earlier in life, he wouldn't have run to someone who would give him an ultimatum for the actual things he needed.

It was a warm day, even for May in Kansas, so it wasn't torturous to venture outside alone to rescue his brothers. At least, it was less torturous than it usually was when he walked alone in public. He used to relish in free time, but now it left him too open. It made him want something to fill his thoughts. He liked to be preoccupied at all times, because if he wasn't thinking about drugs, he wasn't going to go try and find some.

He tried not to walk around without a purpose. He couldn't go find a dealer now because his brothers were waiting for him to bail them out of jail. If he kept forcing himself on the Winchesters and his brothers, then someone was always watching him. Someone was always making sure he wasn't slipping.

When he got to the police station, he noticed John Winchester's car in the parking lot and frowned. The man was frowning at Sam, who was sitting in the front seat with his arms crossed, looking down. Maybe Castiel should have asked his brothers why they were in jail.

The man heard him approach, and his frown turned into a tired smile once Castiel was close enough to ask him why he was there. But he didn't have to, Sam spoke up for him. "It wasn't their fault. Your brothers were just trying to hold me and Adam off of each other. They got caught in the crossfire and I'm sorry."

Castiel shrugged, "It was a repeat anyway."

"Every episode of _Happy Days_ is a repeat," John said with a grin. "That show ended forever ago."

"There isn't anything wrong with that show," Castiel insisted. "Why does everyone care that I like to watch _Happy Days_?"

"Old people watch that show, Cas. It's like saying you regularly watch the _Brady Bunch_ or _Jeopardy_. And you like Potsie Webber... He's such a nerd."

Castiel just scowled and walked away. John beeped the horn and said, "We'll give you three a ride home if you hurry up."

But Castiel figured the other man had been waiting outside for him for ten minutes already, so he walked slower just to annoy his ride. He walked inside and Jody Mills, the sheriff, took one look at him and grinned.

"It's nice to see you, Castiel," she said. "And not tailing you through the park to make sure you aren't being a delinquent."

"I've given up my evil past," Castiel admitted, trying for casual but not quite making it. "I came to get my brothers."

"I figured," Jody put a paper down in front of him, then handed him a pen. They were release forms of some sort. Castiel just signed them and hoped he wasn't signing a confession she had written up back when he was selling drugs. She collected the papers and filed them away, then led him down the hall to the cells.

It wasn't like jail. There was a room in the back with four holding cells that were usually empty. In the event that they weren't, it was usually because of a drunk who needed a place to sleep it off or a man involved in a bar fight. Sometimes they held teenagers who sold drugs before they were transferred to county. That was an actual crime that couldn't be ignored. They locked up other kids from time to time when they were fighting to try and teach them some sort of lesson.

Lucifer had been here once before, and he obviously didn't learn.

The blond twin was standing on one of the benches, elbow of his right arm looped around a bar. He was leaning out, gesturing with his other hand, singing a mash-up of Disney classics. Michael was sitting on the bench opposite, adding in backup vocals whenever he felt like it, enjoying the time locked in a cell with his brother. Adam was sitting in a corner with his head down and his hands over his head.

"Alright, Novaks, you're free to go," Jody said, unlocking the door. Michael stood and Lucifer jumped off the bench. For a second, everything was quiet, and Adam dared to lift his head up.

"We can't leave him alone in here," Michael protested.

"Yes, you can," Adam begged.

"You'll keep checking up on him, right, Sheriff Mills?" The elder twin insisted. Lucifer just burst out of the cell, squawking out _booooorn freeeee_ in an annoying voice, and hugging Castiel around the middle. Adam groaned and put his head back down.

"Of course, Michael."

"I expect you to think about your life choices," Michael chastised. "And I expect to see you at group again tomorrow."

"Yes, Michael," Adam said. And Castiel took pity on the poor boy and led his brothers out of the police station, after Jody gave them back their personal effects.

Lucifer gave another round of singing – which his elder and younger brother ignored – until he spotted the Winchesters' car parked in the lot. He ran up to it, jumping in the back before his brothers were halfway there. When Michael and Castiel did eventually climb in – Michael on the hump despite his age – John was telling Lucifer very gently that Sam was grounded and so he couldn't hang out.

"Jesus Christ, boy. The two of you do everything together all the time. We had to just pick your asses up from jail; I think a little punishment is in order."

Lucifer just pouted, "Yes, sir."

But apparently taking them right home and "punishment" didn't exclude stopping at Denny's for dinner. It took them over an hour to eat, but Lucifer paid, so John didn't seem to mind. Plus, when the three Novaks were waving at John's departing car from in front of their house, everyone was looking a little bit happier than they had earlier.

* * *

Prom was coming up soon, and Castiel wasn't going. He just wasn't. He told everyone who would listen that he wasn't going. He made sure to tell Lucifer loudly in gym class, where Crowley could overhear, and he made sure to tell Sam over dinner at the Winchesters, so Dean could hear too.

He used one case with both of them that seemed pretty straightforward and logical. "I'm a junior and it is a senior prom. I'll go next year if they don't hold me back."

It would be boring, he thought, and stressful. He would spend the whole time anxious because he was always anxious in a crowd nowadays. Plus, without his younger brothers, it would just be boring.

Of course, that was a weak excuse, especially once he saw what everyone was doing.

Bela was taking Balthazar, of course, and Lucifer was taking Sam. But then out of nowhere, Ruby asked Gabriel. Castiel didn't really think too much of it because she had taken him to the sign in as well. But then Gabriel and Kali were walking outside after school, and Dean ran up to them. He dropped onto his knees before Kali and wrapped his arms around her legs. Kali smacked at his shoulder, but he just looked up, chin resting on her belly, and said something.

Kali turned to look at Gabriel before she nodded her head and started smacking Dean again. He let her go and stood up, brushing the dirt from his knees with a grin on his face. She walked away with Gabriel and when Dean walked by Castiel, he winked.

For a handful of days, Castiel waited for Crowley to approach him, but the British teen was always lurking on the sidelines, sworn not to approach Castiel until he approached him first. The letter he had written Crowley was burning in his pocket, but he was afraid to give it to him. He was afraid of what he would think, but mostly, he was afraid that if he gave the letter to Crowley, he wouldn't be able to hold himself back.

It was the last day that they were selling tickets for prom that he realized he did want to go. Everyone _was_ going to be there. Dean was bringing Kali, so she could be with Gabriel. Even Lisa was bringing her lab partner. Castiel was sitting outside the lunch room, watching the people file in and out, and he realized that even though it was statistically impossible for every student but him to be going to Prom, it _felt_ like it.

The worst part was that his earlier statements of not wanting to go were haunting him. His brothers didn't mind talking about what fun it would be in front of him because he had insisted he didn't want to be there. Over dinner last night, Michael had suggested they buy photographs of the four of them with their dates as some sort of family tradition. Raphael suggested that they do that from now on – take photographs, because Lord knows they didn't have any pictures of the family since Lucifer had been kicked out – and they were already talking about how it would be awesome to do group photos every year.

Castiel sort of imagined himself out of both of them as he pushed his food around his plate, and now he was imagining himself out of everything as he avoided even getting food.

"Hey, stud."

The only reason Castiel looked up was because he saw the legs of someone standing in front of him. It wasn't a name he usually responded to. Meg offered him a hand, and he took it, allowing the older girl to pull him to his feet. She was shorter than him, but despite that, she seemed to crowd him against the wall and pin him there. He wasn't really uncomfortable around her, not as much as some other people, for sure, but he wished that maybe they had had a better past, too.

His only distinct memory of Meg in the months before he was admitted to Grace, she was blowing Crowley in the back seat of a car while Castiel drove.

He didn't drop her hand when she pulled him up.

"Does it bother you I had sex with people for money?" she asked, eyes narrowing just a little bit, like she was accusing him of something. Castiel shook his head. "Is that because you had sex with somebody for money?"

"No," Castiel frowned, tilting his head to the side slightly. "A lot of people have sex for money. Porn stars have sex for money. Many sex workers are forced into it, but I think you enjoyed it. It's your body. You should do with it what you please."

"That's why I want to take you to prom, Clarence," Meg pushed closer, and Castiel's back hit the wall. He felt her press up against his chest and he tried to keep his head back so her face would be in focus but she was so close. "The other boys expect me to put out, but I think you'd really still respect me in the morning."

"I'm… I'm…" Castiel's hands found Meg's shoulders but he couldn't quite push her away.

"I know you're gay," Meg grinned, pushing impossibly closer. "That doesn't mean anything. I promise I'll still respect you in the morning too."

It was then that he noticed it. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her hands pressed flat against his sides, palms on his abdomen, fingers spreading over his waist. It was overtly sexual, but it didn't feel that way. He looked over Meg's head, noticing the other students in line were watching the display with confused fascination.

He remembered Scarlet Crowley pressed up against him like this, causing trouble for fun's sake. He remembered kissing her and feeling nothing but Crowley's cold stare hitting him in the back like it was an actual thing. He saw the way Azazel looked horrified, but Alistair was refusing to look at all. Castiel's hands went to the side of Meg's jaw, cupping her face in his hands. He leaned over, so he couldn't be heard and asked, "Who do you want to make jealous?"

Meg grinned, a strange mix between something evil and something thankful, and replied, "Everyone."

He thought that she kissed him, but he couldn't be quiet sure. It was a press of the lips, a weight there with no real passion, and then she was gone, backing up, giving him free space. He inhaled, and she smiled.

"We're meeting at your house. I'll be over at six," she called as she walked down the hall. The other kids stared at him, frowns on their face, like they couldn't quite process what happened. Castiel just got in line and ate his lunch in silence.

* * *

Castiel didn't even think about what he was going to wear to prom until he was laying on the couch before dinner, watching a rerun episode of _White Collar._ He didn't own a suit other than the one that Crowley had tailored especially for him. Of course, he had no idea where that suit was now, but if he had to guess it was covered in puke on Crowley's bedroom floor. Castiel would never get that suit back.

He also wasn't sure if it was appropriate. He was trying really hard not to affiliate himself with Dean or Crowley – one thing Dr. Fuller continued to mention to him was that he needed to learn to be on his own before he jumped back into anything with either of them (or some third guy, Castiel assumed) – and wearing Crowley's suit to prom would probably not really help.

Besides, didn't guys wear tuxedos to prom?

Did he have to get Meg one of them flower things she would wear on her arm? Would she get a matching flower for his lapel?

The door slammed open and Castiel tilted his head back over the armrest to see who was walking in. It was his younger brothers and their girlfriends. Bela must have said something funny at the boys' expense because Kali was laughing but Gabriel and Balthazar looked annoyed. Balthazar went to the kitchen and started popping a bag of popcorn, Gabriel went to the bathroom, and Castiel sat up so the girls could sit by him on the couch.

"We heard you're going to prom with Meg, Cassie," Bela grinned, tugging at Castiel's sleeve so he would shift to the center of the couch. Once he did, his brothers' girlfriends sat on either side of them. Kali kept herself at a respectable distance, but Bela was leaning into Castiel's personal space once she sat down. She was warm, and she kept her head resting on his shoulder longer than was necessary.

"I thought you were strictly into dick," Balthazar called from the kitchen.

Castiel shrugged, and the girls grinned at him.

"I think it's oddly cute," Kali chimed in. "I mean, like Ruby is taking Gabe for me and Dean is bringing me for him. They didn't have to do that."

"Who is Meg bringing me for?" Castiel asked, but the girls just laughed.

Gabriel frowned at the couch before he sat in the loveseat by himself. He looked at Kali with big, puppy eyes, trying to get her to move over to him. Instead she lifted Castiel's arm, forcing it around her. She cuddled to his chest.

"I thought your one exception was Chuck Shurley, not my flaming homosexual older brother," Gabriel complained.

"You like Chuck?" Castiel asked, tiling his head to try and see her face. "He was my lab partner for a while before…" he didn't have to say before what. They knew. "I'm pretty sure Lisa is taking him. I can probably put in a good word."

Gabriel sighed, but Kali exploded, "Oh, would you, Cas?" She hugged him around the middle. "I really like his beard."

"I think it's weird," Balthazar said, plopping a bowl of popcorn on Castiel's lap before handing the other bowl to Gabriel before he sat down next to him on the love seat. "Nobody in high school should have a beard."

"You're just jealous," Bela grinned.

"I've seen this episode. And no _Happy Days_ , either," Gabriel declared, like he was trying to get back at his brother for stealing their girls. But Castiel shrugged (it was better to miss an episode than get picked on through the whole thing anyway), and Kali moved to get access to the food on Castiel's lap. It was Balthazar who ended up picking _America's Funniest Home Videos_ , but only after Gabriel vetoed Doctor Who, saying, "Cas does not need to get into that right now."

They were quiet, other than some giggles, as they ate their popcorn. It wasn't much longer after Castiel abandoned the empty bowl on the floor that Kali shifted closer to him again, wrapping her arm though his and leaning her head on his shoulder. Bela was sprawled out against the arm rest, legs going over both Castiel's and Kali's laps.

This time, the youngest Novaks didn't seem to mind. Castiel looked tired and warm, content to be close to the girls who he thought of as sisters. He was almost asleep when the flash from Gabriel's phone woke him back up. He stretched, wedging his arm free of Kali but he wrapped it around her shoulders after as compensation. She curled back into him.

"Are you renting a tux?" Castiel asked during a commercial. "What about the flowers and stuff?"

The room had been comfortable a second ago, but Castiel frowned, feeling the air thicken around him. The girls were looking at the boys, then looking at each other. Eventually Gabriel spoke up, trying for casual. "Don't worry, bro. We got this."

The others nodded.

Maybe it was then that Castiel should have been a bit suspicious about prom. Later, he would blame it on the warm bodies around him and his grogginess. Instead, he just shrugged and closed his eyes again.

* * *

His brothers did take care of it. When Castiel got home the Friday before prom, there was a suit hanging in his closet and a note on his desk telling him that Michael had ordered the corsage and boutonniere and he would pick them up when he picked up everyone else's.

And the next day, he did.

Castiel was sitting on the couch, lying back against the armrest with a plate of tortilla chips and salsa balancing on his stomach. Michael burst into the house with a bag of boxed flowers in one hand, his phone in the other. He hip-checked the door shut at the same time a chunk of green pepper fell from the chip onto Castiel's chest.

"Are you serious?" Michael asked, sitting the bag on the coffee table. His hair was smoothed back, ready for prom. Gabriel and Balthazar were both in their room trying to fix themselves up. Lucifer had gotten out of the shower half an hour ago. "You were supposed to be in the shower already." Michael picked the plate up from Castiel's stomach. The younger boy protested before picking the pepper off his shirt and popping it in his mouth. He stood, but Michael pocketed his phone and grabbed Castiel's arm, half dragging him to the bathroom.

"I'm going with Meg. It's not like I'm hoping to get lucky tonight. Hygiene isn't a priority."

"Other people will be there, Castiel. And they don't want to smell you. Plus, we're going to dinner in an hour."

"I was hungry," Castiel protested, stumbling into the bathroom with a grin. Michael just rolled his eyes and shut the door. Unless Castiel was very much mistaken, it sounded like Michael ate a chip before walking away back toward the kitchen.

It took Castiel longer to shave than it did to actually shower. He was careful not to knick himself. His hair was shorter again – Michael scheduled the haircut so Castiel showed up – so he tried his hand at styling it like he used to. In the end, he knew Michael would protest the messiness, but Castiel could remember a time when Dean would run his fingers through his hair when they laid side by side gasping for breath. Dean had liked it once. And maybe…

Castiel almost flattened it again. He couldn't afford to think like that. He needed to focus on himself. He couldn't set himself up for that hurt again. He couldn't survive the rejection again.

In the end, Gabriel pushed the door open to grab the gel to slick back his hair. He never knocked and didn't seem to care that walking in on his brother in the bathroom was an invasion of privacy. Castiel gripped at the towel around his waist, but when the other boy froze, Castiel realized that it wasn't his state of dress that was causing his brother to stare.

It was his chest.

Castiel didn't turn or try to cover himself. His fingers twitched at his sides, but he fought it. Other than the nurses and doctors, the only person Castiel had shown was Lucifer. He could tell that his brothers had been dying to see it, but wouldn't ask. Eventually, Castiel just showed Gabriel of his own volition.

It was just scars now – angry raised flesh standing out against his pink skin – but Gabriel's eyes left the scars to find his brother's eye. They were giant, full of concern and fear, and Castiel felt guilty all over again.

"I'm sorry," Castiel tried, fingers balling into a fist to hide that he was shaking. "I'm sorry for everything I did. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Are you kidding me, Cas?" Gabriel hissed, taking a step closer. "I'm sorry. We're all sorry. We knew what was happening and we let it go on. You should hate us. You are so forgiven for all your transgressions. I just hope someday you can forgive us for failing you."

Castiel looked down, focusing on Gabriel's yellow bowtie to avoid his eyes. After another few seconds, Gabriel grabbed the gel and turned to walk out. He paused for a second at the door and said, "I love you, bro, and I want to hug you but I can't quite manage to get past the fact that you're basically naked to embrace you. So I owe you."

Gabriel didn't shut the door when he left, and Castiel gripped the towel around his waist and peeked into the hallway. Nobody was there, so he ran across to his room and shut the door. He dressed as quickly as he could, pulling on underwear and an undershirt to ward against any other prying eyes, and then his white dress shirt and pants. It wasn't until he got the vest and bowtie on that he stopped to look at himself in the mirror.

His brothers had picked a solid black suit, but the vest and bowtie were a deep shade of blue. They had picked it perfectly to bring out his eyes, and he was fighting a blush as he pulled on the suit jacket. Even after he was dressed, he tried to hide out as long as he could. He waited until he heard Gabriel and Balthazar walked past before he dared open his door.

Nobody's dates were there yet, but the three of his brothers who were waiting in the living room looked like they were dressed really nicely in a hospital's waiting room. All of their suits were black, but each of them had a different color bowtie. Gabriel had a yellow vest that matched his bowtie, but Balthazar and Michael both had cummerbunds. Balthazar's was black and Michael's was green. Michael was sitting in their father's chair, elbows on his knees, looking down. Balthazar was looking out of the window, and Gabriel was quickly approaching him.

Castiel had forgotten the IOU until he felt his brother's arms wrapped around his middle. Neither of them knew that when Castiel's hands found his brother's back what they were starting. From this moment on, the Novaks would greet each other this way. They would hug their goodbyes. And it started here.

Castiel held Gabriel at arm's length, looking him over. He grinned, and said, "You look nice, Gabe."

The responding smile was easy. Both of them enjoyed the way the nickname sounded on Castiel's tongue.

"Bela's here," Balthazar announced, breaking up the nice moment to rush to the door. He didn't wait for her to knock. Instead, he rushed out to her. Or he tried. Instead, he stood on their stoop, staring down at the girl who was climbing out of her uncle's car. When she stood, she offered a shy smile toward her boyfriend. She was in a simple black dress. It was tight, but easily glamorous. She had an expensive looking necklace and bracelet on, a clutch in one hand, and a box with a flower in it. For a moment, they just looked at each other. Eventually, Balthazar's grin spread across his face and he raced to her, picking her up and spinning her around.

Hester showed up next with a similar reaction.

When Meg, Lilith, and Ruby showed up, there was less emotion. Lilith and Ruby had matching corsages already, but Gabriel didn't make a move to give his date one anyway. His was yellow and they weren't wearing yellow. Lilith had a short, frilly, pink thing that looked like it was inspired by Lolita. She had a black ribbon around her middle, and Ruby had on a tight, black, short dress on with a pink ribbon. They didn't seem overly concerned that Gabriel wasn't paying any real attention to them.

Meg was the same.

Her dress was purple, like the corsage Michael had gotten for her. Castiel wasn't sure what to do, so he pushed the box at her. She responded by picking up the boutonniere Michael had gotten for Castiel (weird, there was two of them the same shade of blue) and handed the box to him.

She opened her box and put the corsage on herself. Castiel just held his box to his chest and tried to think of something to say to her. In the end, he went with something that was simple and true, "You look really pretty tonight."

Meg looked at him, a frown on her face. It relaxed when she looked him over and must have realized that he wasn't lying.

"You know what, hot stuff? You don't look to bad yourself. I'm digging the sex hair."

"Kali's here," Gabriel yelled from the window. He amended with, "Whoa, look at Dean's car."

In his defense, Castiel wasn't the only one who went to the window.

The Impala was a beauty, she really was. Her paint looked fresh and new – which it was – she was completely rebuilt from the ground up. But she was shadowed by the people exiting her. Dean was first, emerging from the driver's seat. His hair was parted to the side and smoothed down, not unlike the guys in The _Untouchables_ , a favorite movie of Dean's. His suit was unbuttoned, revealing a cummerbund that was the same shade of blue as Castiel's vest. He didn't have a boutonniere yet, but his grin was wide and excited as he shut the door and crossed the Impala to the front to open the door for Kali.

The first thing Castiel noticed was how there wasn't a speck of black on her. She had abandoned her Chucks for yellow flats and her candy skull necklace for matching beads. Her dress was simple – it looked more like a yellow satin sundress than a prom dress – but she was incredibly beautiful. She looked nervous – so did Dean, to be honest, but he was better at hiding it – and he offered her his arm. She took it and he started leading her toward the house.

Sam threw the back door open, reaching to grab something from the other side of the car before he got out. His suit was the only one that broke from the simple black. His button up under the suit was black, but the suit itself was white. His vest and euro tie (he was the only one not wearing a bowtie, too) were red, matching the rose in his hand. He didn't look nervous, only excited and sure of himself. By the time the three of them reached the door, Gabriel had pulled Kali away from Dean, and Sam was looking around for Lucifer.

Michael was pushing the remaining blue flower at Dean. He took it, seemingly not caring whether or not he actually had a date to prom other than to bring his friend's girl. He turned around with the box in his hand, and Castiel froze the second he knew Dean had spotted him.

Castiel had just watched three of his brothers look upon the girls they loved most in their lives with awe. He knew the sounds they made, the dopey look of pure happiness and love on their faces as they gave them a once over. He knew that when Dean had stepped out of the Impala, Castiel mirrored those expressions.

But it was sort of awesome, watching Dean get the same look on his face as he looked over Castiel.

The pair of them had been hanging out pretty regularly. They were friends, and it meant that even though Castiel figured he should leave Dean alone (or end up slipping on his promise to himself to figure out who he was without drugs before he started dating again), it was impossible. Dean made quick work of walking over to him, a light spark of pink decorating his freckles, an easy grin on his face.

"We should have called each other. If I knew you were wearing blue, I wouldn't have stepped on your toes. I mean… I didn't pick it out, Sammy did, but…"

"Me either," Castiel said, trying to force his eyes from Dean's cummerbund to his face. "My brothers left it in my room for me. I swear I didn't know. I swear I wasn't trying to…"

Dean flushed a little more, turning to look at Sam, who was walking down the hall toward the twins' bedroom, obviously looking for Lucifer. It was clear that they were being set up. The only people who matched were the couples. Castiel saw it, and he was sure Dean knew it too. The dark-haired boy's heart was throbbing in his chest, panic setting in.

He remembered the last time he made a statement about he and Dean being a couple. Dean had told him they'd never get back together. And Castiel wanted this friendship. He wanted more than that, but he wouldn't risk this for that. He wouldn't. And if his brothers messed up this friendship… if they…

"Meg didn't pin that on for you?" Dean asked, gesturing to the boutonniere. Castiel shook his head, and Dean opened the one in his hand, grabbing the blue carnation before setting the plastic box to the side. He held it up to Castiel's lapel, before he suddenly frowned, looking at his friend with a serious look. "Is this okay? I know we're not… I just…"

"It's fine, Dean," Castiel said before he could stop himself. He swallowed around a lump in his throat. Dean offered an unsure look, open and vulnerable. Castiel nodded before he added, "Please."

The shorter boy felt himself burning – it felt like it was a thousand degrees in here – and Dean pinned the flower to his chest before drawing his hands away with an unsteady breath. Castiel's hands were shaking as he tried to open the box. In the end, he barely got a hold of the carnation before he dropped the box to the floor. He made a small, embarrassed noise in the back of his throat, looking to the floor then back up at Dean.

Dean still had that look of awe on his face, of easy happiness, and he wrapped his hands around Castiel's and the flower, stilling them with his own. "You don't have to do this. We aren't together, Cas. We aren't going to prom together. We're just friends. You don't have to feel obligated to do anything you don't want to do."

"It's my pills," Castiel said, knowing it was a half-truth. "A common side effect is tremors."

"I can do it, Cas. You don't have to –"

"Kali already pinned one on Gabriel. You shouldn't have to do it yourself. It's your senior prom," Castiel said, knowing he was still making excuses. But he wanted to. God, did he want to. When Dean let his hands go, Castiel's were still shaking, but it was manageable. And he was able to pin the flower into place without stabbing the man through the heart.

At least, he hoped so.

* * *

After his shower, Lucifer got dressed in his suit (it was slow going with only one functioning hand) and tried to decide what to do with his hair. He must have stared into Michael's mirror for an hour – his hair was dry already – and he kept expecting to see his reflection flinch. He'd only been out of Grace for two weeks, but he had always been afraid to look into mirrors or windows or puddles or any sort of reflective surface. He watched himself for an hour, sure that something was going to go wrong.

Because for once, everything was going right.

His brother wasn't angry at him. He was taking the love of his life to his senior prom. He was going to be graduating in a month. He was going to college at Stanford.

His reflection wasn't telling him how badly he sucked or how he was going to mess all of this up or that he should kill himself. But the thoughts were still there, like a worm chewing away at his brain.

Instead of doing his hair, he just sat with the rose he had bought for Sam between his fingers, desperately wanting to dig his fingers of his left hand into the thorns.

A knock on his door got him out of the mirror. "Come in," he said, figuring it was Michael for the fiftieth time, but when the door opened, it wasn't Michael. It was Lucifer's soul.

Lucifer stood – he was never able to remain sitting when Sam entered a room – and instantly, his heart thudded against his chest. Sam looked to Lucifer's side of the room first, then stepped in and shut the door when he turned to Michael's. They were wearing the same thing – their suits were identical: white, black shirt under it, red vest and tie – but even knowing what he would be wearing didn't cheapen his first glimpse.

There weren't words.

Sam was flushing, but smiling, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his eyebrows raised. He had a rose in his hand as well – they hadn't planned that part – but he wasn't surprised that they'd chosen the same flower. They were in sync. They were two parts made whole. They were made for each other.

"You look amazing," Sam breathed, crossing the room until he was standing before his boyfriend. He held the rose up to Lucifer's chest, then pulled it away, cutting the rose at an appropriate length. He handed Lucifer the scissors – he could remember a time when Sam and Castiel had hid everything sharp from his Church – and carefully pinned the rose over Lucifer's heart.

"Sam…"

"Your turn," Sam said, beaming up at the blond boy. He stood up as tall as he could – he was gaining on Lucifer but he wasn't quite there yet – and when Lucifer held the rose to Sam's chest to measure a spot to cut it, he was overcome with emotion. He didn't realize he was crying until his vision blurred around the rose, and Sam's sure hands were on his hips. "Hey, it's okay. Lucifer, look at me." Lucifer looked. He couldn't see Sam's concern around the tears so he blinked. They left his eyes, rolling down his face, and Sam reached up to rub them away. "You're okay."

"I love you," Lucifer countered. "I more than love you, Sam. I would die without you. I would already be dead without you. I like who I am when I'm with you. I can't believe I let Michael stop me from kissing you that night at Crowley's party."

"Since your arm was broken, I forgive you," Sam smiled, fingers still framing Lucifer's face. "And you could always kiss me now to make up for lost time."

"I don't deserve you," Lucifer murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Sam's lips. It didn't last, they never lasted long enough, but Lucifer moved back so he could cut the end of the rose and pin it to Sam's lapel. Once it was secure, Lucifer's hands went to Sam's shoulders, smoothing over the material.

His right hand trailed down Sam's left arm until he reached his fingers. He thought about entwining them, but instead, he guided them to his face. Lucifer's eyes slid shut, and he nuzzled his face into his boyfriend's hand, enjoying the smell and feel of him. He pressed a kiss to the center of his palm, then to the center of his wrist, right over the star that Lucifer knew his boyfriend still marked on himself.

"Did you ever think, when you drew that on me, that we would end up here?"

Lucifer opened his eyes, but kept Sam's wrist at his mouth. Eight months ago, a boy said something nice to him for no reason. Nobody just said nice things to him. So he made a split second decision to take him to a party. Over the course of several hours and too much alcohol, he recognized Sam. Lucifer was an incomplete circle, rolling around the world with a missing wedge. Sam was that wedge that completed him.

It wasn't quite first sight, but maybe it was second.

Lucifer had his arm broken for Sam. He left his home for Sam. He applied to college for Sam. He got help for Sam. He would die for Sam.

"I didn't then, but I can't imagine a life without you now."

"You'll never be without me," Sam promised, pushing his hand past the grip Lucifer had on him to wrap his arms around the taller boy's shoulders. Lucifer gave into it, his hands finding the small of Sam's back. He gave Sam a hopeful, trusting look, and Sam nodded. "I swear, no matter what happens. No matter what, you'll always be a part of my life. I promise."

Sam's chest was flush against Lucifer's, their hips were together, and it seemed like there was no part of them that was left untouched. All Sam had to do was move his arm, letting a hand run though his boyfriend's hair, and Lucifer was looking down at him through lidded eyes.

"I'll give it back for as long as you're willing to give it to me. I swear I'll always say it back, because it'll always be true," Sam murmured. "I love you, too."

This time, when Sam captured Lucifer's lips with his own, there was something else to it. It was like Lucifer could feel the promise on his skin, like he could believe Sam's words. He would trust Sam. He would believe him. He would love him until the day he died.

There was a knock on the door, but it didn't open. Instead, they broke apart to hear Michael call from the other side of the door, "Hurry up, guys. The limo's here."

Sam grinned up at Lucifer, and the elder boy tucked a stray strand of Sam's hair back behind his ear. He tried to think of something to say to describe how happy he was, how much this was the perfect moment, how much he had grown because of Sam. But there weren't words. So he took a step back and offered Sam his arm.

"Why I am the girl?" Sam protested with a smile on his face.

"Because you're shorter. If you're ever taller than me, I'll be the girl."

"Promise?"

Lucifer nodded, opening his bedroom door. "I promise. If you're ever taller than me and we get married, I'll go find my dad and make him walk me down the aisle."

"In a dress?" Sam asked, looking up at Lucifer with glee.

"If that's what you want. Whatever you want, I will do."

"I Just want you to be happy," Sam said. Everyone was outside, piling into the limo. It was a big one – capable of fitting 13 people, anyway – and if it was one person too small, he was sure he could sit on Lucifer's lap anyway.

"Anything," Lucifer promised as he shut his front door behind him. "I will do anything, Sam. I mean it. I can't deny you anything."

"I want what you want."

The door was already ajar, but Lucifer held it open in his hand and let Sam crawl in first. Everyone was spread up the limo, but Dean and Castiel were sitting in the back. Sam crawled in next to his brother, who gave him a crazy hopeful grin, but didn't say anything. Lucifer got into the limo next to him and shut the door.

Sam leaned against Lucifer, lacing their fingers together and resting their hands on his boyfriend's lap and his head on Lucifer's shoulder.

* * *

Thirteen people in a limo was a little much, but if he had to be stuck in the back of a car between any two people, it would be Sam and Castiel, even though Sam was way more into Lucifer than he was entertaining Dean. Meg was sitting near Castiel – she was on the side seat right in front of him – but she was talking to Ruby and Lilith, and Castiel was looking out the window.

Dinner was much of the same.

One of the Novaks must have made reservations because they had a long table all set up for them. Everyone filled in by the pair, leaving Castiel at the far end, furthest from everyone. It wasn't like Dean had anyone else to sit next to, so he sat across from him, secretly reveling in the small, grateful smile Castiel shot his way before he opened his menu.

"I'm sorry you got ISS," Michael said as he held out the chair two down from Dean for Hester. She sat down and he pushed it in. (Lucifer and Sam looked at each other for a moment, both of their hands on the seat next to Castiel, but ultimately, neither of them relented to be one got to be the gentleman, so they sat down together.) Michael sat between Hester and Dean. "I wasn't even mad at you. I shouldn't have started the fight."

"It's alright," Dean said, catching Castiel's eye over the menu. "It wasn't all bad."

"It was pretty terrible," Castiel countered. "It was for me."

"I'm sorry my presence puts you off," Dean said, with enough joking in his voice that Castiel would understand he wasn't serious, but he wasn't able to keep it all at bay. He heard the hint of something small and raw in his voice, a tremor that was afraid that what he said was true.

"I was sick," Castiel frowned, lowering his menu. "I was smoking pot in the same room with you and Benny to keep my nausea at bay. I was a complete mess, and it embarrasses me to remember how bad I'd fallen. I never… I never apologized to you, Dean. I owe you an apology."

"You owe me one?" Dean hissed, leaning forward across the table. "You came to my house in the pouring rain and _begged_ me to forgive you, and I sent you away. Do you have any idea...?"

"Can I take your drink order?" The waitress asked, and Michael gave a small sigh, like he was secretly really glad that they had been interrupted. And Dean agreed. This wasn't the time or place to have this conversation. He had a whole notebook filled with things he wanted, no _needed_ , to tell Castiel. Prom night was loaded as it was. He'd just try to make sure everyone was having fun for tonight and he and Castiel would get their day to talk about it.

Eventually.

He hoped.

After they had their drink orders in, Castiel went back to looking at his menu, so Dean looked at his, too. The Novaks had chose some upscale, expensive restaurant and Dean had to remind himself that he didn't need to look for the cheapest thing on the menu anymore. He decided on a hamburger and threw manners to the wind, resting his elbow on the table and cradling his head in his hand. He didn't even try to be subtle when he watched Sam and Lucifer. They were so much in their own world that they were incapable of noticing anyone outside themselves.

Sam was sitting on Lucifer's left, and as such, he was nearest to the hand that he didn't have control over. It didn't seem to bother either of them. Their elbows must have been resting on their legs, Sam's fingers were threaded through Lucifer's, and he was kissing the back of his boyfriend's hand, not caring that Lucifer's fingers couldn't wrap back around his. Instead, he used his other hand to push the fingers down one at a time.

Dean thought it was weird, but Lucifer was giving Sam a disgusting look of affection and Dean could practically see the little hearts flying off the two of them. He thought about saying something to break up their moment – he _was_ a big brother after all – but his shin received a kick under the table and when he looked back at Castiel, he was frowning at him.

"What?"

"No."

"You couldn't possibly know what I was thinking, Cas."

"I did, and don't do it. Let them have tonight," Castiel turned to look at the pair of them. Sometimes, Dean forgot that Castiel spent a month locked in a building with Lucifer and Sam was his only visitor. He was a third wheel, completely used to the small moments of affection in a way Dean wasn't yet. He had only seen the two of them as a couple (well, as Dean knowing they were a couple) for the past two weeks.

And Dean watched Castiel watching Lucifer and Sam. Dean knew that Castiel loved his brother, and he even knew that Castiel loved Sam like a brother. But there was something else to the look, some sort of longing… a desire to have that again. And Dean understood. He really did.

And he vowed to try his hardest to make Castiel's prom as amazing as could be, considering the circumstances.

* * *

Michael didn't really care for green until he saw Hester in her dress. It was more traditional than Kali's or Bela's in length. Not that his brothers' girlfriends didn't look good, they totally did, but Hester… They were all in a mismatch line on the way into prom, waiting for the chaperones to check them all for tickets before they got with their real dates. Michael and Hester were heading up the back because he wanted to make sure whoever was checking them in wouldn't give Sam and Lucifer any trouble.

They didn't; the couple walked hand-in-hand down the hallway and into the ballroom. Instead, Michael watched as Dean played up his few moments of having a date. At first, Kali seemed a little hesitant to play along, but when she saw the frown Gabriel was shooting the elder Winchester as he wrapped his arms around Kali's waist and tugged her to his chest, she threw her arms back around Dean and laughed.

Gabriel was pouting, but Castiel was grinning from behind Meg, and Michael wasn't actually sure which was motivating Dean to continue more.

Dean leaned over, like he was going to kiss Kali when Charlie finished with Ruby and Gabriel and said, "You know you can get kicked out for overly friendly displays of affection, don't you Winchester?"

Dean handed her their ticket, and Michael saw that Ruby ran ahead to find Lilith, but Gabriel stayed to wait for his actual date. "I swear you won't catch me trying to kiss her again, Ms. Bradbury."

"I better not," Charlie grinned, waving them past. Kali wrapped her arm around Gabriel's and they walked off toward the ballroom. Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, making it seem like he wasn't waiting, but he wasn't fooling Michael. Meg handed Charlie her and Castiel's ticket. "How are you doing, Castiel?"

He nodded, licked his lips, and looked at Dean for a second before he looked back at the teacher, "Better."

"That's good," Charlie grinned, waving them on. "You scared some of us senior teachers. We thought we'd never get a chance to have you in class."

Meg walked ahead, but Castiel just flushed. Dean gripped his arm, offering him a reassuring smile, and started tugging him down the hall.

Then, only Michael and Hester were left.

"Look at you two," Charlie said. "Have you seen it in there, yet? I know the two of you kind of planned the whole thing?"

"No," Michael responded, his hand on Hester's back. "Did you see Lucifer and Sam?"

"I did," Charlie beamed. "Though, I don't think they saw me. Go on ahead. You should be very proud of what you accomplished, Michael."

The actual prom planning committee had students and teachers on it. While the students came up with the theme and colors and even made some decorations, the teachers and the hired decorator put the stuff up. They liked to surprise the students. Sometimes, the interpretation of the students' vision was terrible, but when Michael turned into the ballroom, the site took his breath away.

There were lights and streamers and balloons – things that you find at every prom – but the impressive part was the far wall. The photographer was set up back there, taking pictures of students around the big decoration. There were white gates attached to pillars that had to be a two feet taller than Michael. Just inside the gates were two steps up, and behind that was a banner of stairs that looked as real as the real steps. The steps seemed to go up and back forever. There was a black backdrop that had some sort of silvery material on it.

It really did look like a stairway to heaven.

Hester leaned into him, her arm wrapping around his waist, her hand resting low on his hip. He extended his arm around her without hesitation, and she grinned up at him.

"Is it everything you hoped it would be?" Hester asked, putting her chin against her boyfriend's chest, offering a small smile up at him. "I know how much it meant to you, so I came in earlier today and helped them set it up."

"It's perfect, Hester," Michael smiled, leaning down and resting his forehead against hers. She smiled at him as her eyes shut, but then her grin turned a little wicked. Her hands tightened at his hips, pulling him toward her so they were flush together. She tilted her head up, capturing his bottom lip between her own.

* * *

Gabriel felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to look at who was bothering him before he realized he should just deck the guy for interrupting the way Kali's back was pressed up against him. It had only been half an hour since they'd gotten there. Who the hell would need him already? When he saw it was Meg, Lilith, and Ruby, he almost wished he had thrown a punch.

Until Ruby leaned closer and said, "You're getting all sweaty before the picture."

Gabriel kept his hands on Kali's hips, but he did a quick headcount of his brothers. Balthazar wasn't too far away on the dance floor, his nose buried into Bela's hair. Michael and Hester were near the photographer; Lucifer was walking toward the soda bar where Castiel had parked it. Sam was dragging Dean by the wrist toward the photographer from over where Benny was sitting with a handful of other guys.

He didn't need Meg to step closer and yell, "We're going to the bathroom, now. Shouldn't be more than ten minutes," over the music to know that the game was on. When the girls turned to walk away, he tapped Kali on the shoulder and pointed to the photographer. The pair of them went to get Balthazar and Bela (who were sort of really hard to pull off each other), and the four of them walked back to get their picture taken.

By the time the four of them got there, Michael and the photographer were trying to find the best place to put them all. Gabriel and Kali were the shortest, so Michael ushered them to the top step. They put Balthazar and Bela on the next step, off centered. Michael turned around, frowning at where Lucifer was dragging Castiel by the bicep toward the rest of them.

"Me and you at the bottom, or you and Castiel?" Michael asked, turning to look from Sam to Dean.

"Wait," Castiel said, trying to rip his arm from his brother's grasp. "Where's Meg?"

"She's occupado," Gabriel called. "In the bathroom, if you get what I mean."

Castiel must have had a good idea at what Gabriel was hinting at because he frowned, deflating somewhat like he actually liked Meg or like he took it personally that his date was off in the bathroom without him. "I don't need to be in the picture," he said. "I mean, I don't want to be the only one in it by myself."

"Use Dean," Sam said, pushing his brother toward Castiel. Dean looked somewhat shocked and horrified, and Gabriel smirked. Maybe the idiots couldn't see all the things they were doing to try and push them both on the right path… the path back to each other. Sam frowned at Dean's reaction and amended, "You could just stand next to each other like friends; you don't need to act like a couple or anything."

"You're taking this too far, Sammy," Dean yelled over the music, pushing back at his brother. It wasn't hard enough to knock him over – it was barely enough to get the younger Winchester to step back – but it was enough for Dean to escape him. He started walking backwards, away from the group, looking embarrassed and angry. "Stop forcing me on him. I've been telling you for a month that he isn't going to want to forgive me, okay? I fucked this up, I ruined the best thing that ever happened to me, and you aren't helping by rubbing it in my face all the time."

Dean turned, like he forgot that Castiel was actually standing there. He flushed a bit, shaking his head against Castiel's wide eyes. "I'm sorry, Cas. I'm really sorry, and I'll just… I'll go."

Dean turned around, back toward Benny, and he wasn't even sure he heard it until Castiel repeated it again, louder. "Wait."

He did wait. He turned around, and the younger boy was fidgeting at the bottom of his suit jacket and chewing at the inside of his lip. Castiel looked down, like he was desperately trying to hide, but he looked back up like he was trying to overpower his fear.

"I don't want to be alone, Dean," He gestured behind him, like he meant for the picture. But Dean sort of thought it was more than that. "I… I… _please_."

Dean just nodded. "Yeah, okay, Cas. Sure."

Gabriel watched from the top as his brothers and their dates (and Dean) tried to situate themselves into some sort of awkward prom photo. Balthazar and Bela were doing the classic back-to-front with his arms wrapped around her. Michael and Hester were facing each other with his arm around her hip and her hand on his chest. Gabriel couldn't quite tell what Lucifer and Sam and Dean and Castiel did, but he heard Dean say, "I'm going to blue steel it," as he leaned his elbow on Castiel's shoulder.

"Get on my back," Kali said, shifting forward, holding her arms out by her side. Gabriel didn't question it; he just pushed on her shoulders, wrapping his legs around her hips. She used her arms to stabilize him, and he wrapped his arms around her. It was an afterthought that he should be afraid. She was the same height as him, but she was definitely thinner. He couldn't believe she was picking him up so easily.

The photographer grinned and took the picture. For the most part, everyone broke apart. Dean clasped Castiel on the back and both of them walked off to the soda bar. Michael and Hester walked to the dance floor with Balthazar and Bela. Kali just walked down the steps with Gabriel on her back like he weighed nothing.

On their way past, Gabriel heard Lucifer murmuring something into Sam's ear, his hand low on Sam's hip. By the time Kali carried him to the photographer, everyone had abandoned the stairs and the next group was climbing up on the stairs for their photo.

"You want to see it?" The photographer asked. Gabriel wiggled his way off Kali's back and the two of them huddled around the back of the digital camera. Kali laughed, pointing to Gabriel's look of half-awe and half-fear, before she switched and pointed to Lucifer and Sam. It almost looked like they weren't ready for the photograph. They were facing each other, pretty close together. Lucifer had his left hand over the small of Sam's back; his right hand was tangled around Sam's. The younger boy's wrist was twisted so it was exposed, and Gabriel could see that his jacket was pulled up enough to reveal the black star that the boy still drew on himself.

"Look at Cas and Dean," Kali said, nearly cooing.

Dean said he was doing blue steel, and he probably had done it, but the picture had been taken after that. His left elbow was on Castiel's right shoulder, and his right hand was in his pocket. His suit jacket was unbuttoned and pulled back, exposing his cummerbund. It was a confident stance, but Castiel must have said something that interrupted his blue steel. The small, loving smile he was giving Castiel instead was almost set at odds with his body. Castiel's hands were behind his back, looking like a solider at ease. The closed-lipped smile he was giving Dean wasn't devoid of emotions.

"Look at Cas' dimples," Gabriel grinned. "I had forgotten he even had dimples."

When they started walking away from the photographer, Kali reached her hand across the space between him to lace their fingers together. "Let's go get Shirley Temples."

They did, and when Kali let go of Gabriel's hand to get onto the stool at the soda bar, Gabriel approached his brother from the side, wrapping his arms around his middle like he had done earlier that night. Castiel looked surprised, just a bit, before he dug his arm out from where Gabriel had it trapped between their bodies and wrapped it around his shoulders.

Kali took a picture of it on her phone. She gave sent it Gabriel soon after it was taken, but the pair of them printed out a copy of it and framed it for a small, supplementary present for Castiel's wedding.

It was still hanging in Castiel's living room.

* * *

Prom had been going on for a full hour, when Balthazar decided that the music was kind of shitty. Most of the other people didn't seem to mind, but there were more Novaks than any other single family in the place, so he thought that gave them some sort of seniority. So he was sitting at a table fiddling on his phone, trying to remedy that.

"Castiel still hasn't danced yet," Lucifer said, tossing his head back over to the bar. Dean had come and gone, never leaving Castiel alone for more than two or three songs, but Castiel would spend the freedom frowning into his drink or glancing over to where Crowley was sitting in the corner.

Crowley was a planned disturbance. The Novaks were all keeping an eye on their brother, and they were expecting contact to be established at some point over the night. Crowley looked like a sick dog, alternating between resting his head on the table and watching Castiel. Though, to be honest, none of them expected him to last an hour.

Every time Dean left, Castiel looked more likely to approach Crowley, though. And that was why Lucifer was sitting next to him at the round table, doing nothing to help the situation along, but everything to slow it down with his bitching.

"Here you go," Sam said, placing a soda down in front of each of them. Lucifer took a sip, but Balthazar ran his hand through his hair and kept at his phone. "No luck yet?"

"Does it look like there has been any luck," Balthazar snapped. "Every fifth song is something you could line dance to, isn't it?"

"We live in Kansas," Lucifer said, a frown that Balthazar took as a warning for being mean to Sam. "They're playing what some people like."

"But not me, and I'm going to fix that right…"

" _We're gonna party like it's prom night. We're gonna fuck like it's our first time._  
We're gonna party like it's prom night;  
I just want to sweat it out, on my clothes and in your mouth."

The DJ looked like he was in a panic. The chaperones looked like they weren't quite sure what to do, but Castiel's and Crowley's eyes snapped to each other.

"Change it," Lucifer hissed, trying to reach for Balthazar's phone. Instead of the song getting changed, it turned into a battle between who got to hold the remote.

Sam stood and said, "I got this," making quick strides toward Castiel as the two Novaks fought over who got to change it to what. Balthazar let up because he was sure Lucifer wouldn't be able to figure out how to hack into the DJ's Bluetooth and settled for watching Sam's solution.

By the time Sam got there, Castiel had smiled at Crowley. It was obvious – even to Balthazar, who knew less of what the two of them had done together – that this brought back some sort of memory. And it didn't appear to be a bad one. And Balthazar wasn't so sure that was a good thing. With a final smile at Crowley, Castiel let Sam lead him to the dance floor without a fight to join Gabriel, Kali, and Bela. Watching the two of them dance was like watching two girls raised on punk rock trying to suddenly move their hips to dance music, and despite how good Bela and Kali were, they reverted to geekdom instantly.

Gabriel never left geekdom.

Lucifer passed him back his cell phone when he saw the disaster was averted, and Balthazar pulled up the music player. "Any requests?"

Lucifer just grinned.

* * *

Sometimes, Castiel did dance with Meg. More often than not, he was dancing with Bela or Kali depending on which of his brothers were lurking at the soda bar. Sam and Lucifer had been a constant at the dance floor – long enough for Sam to get so overheated in his suit jacket that he hung it on the back of a chair and rolled up his black dress shirt – and while they were fun enough while there was a fast song, they were pretty boring during slow songs.

So when a slow one hit, somewhere close to the two hour mark, Castiel just walked to where Dean was sitting and flopped down in a chair. Lucifer and Sam fit together perfectly at their current heights, but if Sam grew as tall as Dean they'd be the same height. Castiel kind of wondered if they'd still fit together if that happened, but decided that the answer was obvious.

" _Give me love like her. 'Cause lately I've been waking up alone."_

Of course. Lucifer and Sam were a constant in a crazy, fucked up world.

"Having fun?" Dean asked, pushing a half-empty plastic cup toward Castiel. It had been the same one that Castiel had been drinking from for most of the night, and Dean was opting to play the role of butler instead of dance partner. He had been sitting and watching most of the night.

"It's not so bad. I just have to pretend I'm high as hell and nobody's watching."

"Someone's always watching, Cas."

"I know," Castiel grinned. "It's like I can't shake your gaze."

" _And that I'd fight my corner, maybe tonight I'll call you after my blood turns into alcohol."_

Dean grumbled something under his breath, but Castiel just took a sip of his soda and leaned back in his chair, watching their brothers on the dance floor.

Maybe Castiel was too invested, maybe he was just creepy, but he had been watching the pair all night. Prom was a night notorious for making and breaking couples, but if there were two people completely unaware of their surroundings, it was Lucifer and Sam. It was beautiful in a way that Castiel found painful in Grace – Lucifer had a Winchester visiting him every day – and all Castiel wanted was to see one there for him, too.

They had been alternating how they danced, sometimes Lucifer had his elbows on Sam's shoulders, and sometimes it was reversed, but Castiel liked the ease of it. It was never a fight or an argument. One just went and the other came with. He could only remember bits and pieces of his time with Dean – and Dean had been just as willing to give himself as he was willing to take Castiel – and Castiel wondered if that was a Winchester trait of fair play or if it was love.

It was never that easy with Crowley.

So when Lucifer slipped his hand around Sam's waist, using his forearm more than his fingers to pull him close, Sam didn't hesitate to wrap his arms higher, resting his forehead on Lucifer's shoulder to sway with him.

"Are you having fun, Dean?"

"I'm not really the dancing type," Dean shrugged. "And there's no booze here, so I have to get my kicks where I can get them. I'm thinking Denny's after prom, though. Since I got my Baby up and running, I've wanted to take her out all the time. But it's better with someone riding shotgun."

" _It's been a while, but I still feel the same. Maybe I should let you go."_

It was an invitation, Castiel knew. Between the matching suits and the photograph, Castiel was sure this did look like a date between him and Dean. It certainly felt like it, other than the fact he couldn't get Dean up to dance with him to save his ass. But with Dean's constant supervision and those little looks, Castiel was pretty sure that he wasn't the only one feeling like this was more than just two friends abandoned at prom together.

He knew Dean would be smiling behind him, so he focused on Lucifer and Sam instead.

It was safer.

" _Mmm, no, I just wanna hold you."_

It wasn't a song Castiel knew, but it was one that his older brother did know. Lucifer's nose was pressed into Sam's hair. There was a light from the DJ booth behind him that painted the pair of them in silhouettes. It didn't look like a dance at a high school prom, but an extravagant light setup for a music video. Castiel could almost imagine a cute little cupid shooting everyone full of arrows on the dance floor during the song, and there was no denying that Sam and Lucifer loved each other.

They were flush against each other, almost like the pair of them were resting on one another. From the angle Castiel was at, he could only see Sam's back and Lucifer's face, but he could see the way his elder brother's lips formed near to Sam's ear, and he knew that he was singing the words to his boyfriend while they danced.

" _All I want is the taste that your lips allow. Muh-my, muh-my, oh give me love."_

Castiel sighed, a small smile plastered on his face and he couldn't wipe it clean no matter how much he tried. There was something so pure, so beautiful, in Sam and Lucifer. He adored watching the two of them together, Lucifer whispering the words of any song like a promise, and Sam taking it and giving it right back. The press of their bodies was like one. The selflessness and complete trust… Castiel envied them.

Don't get him wrong, he completely loved and adored them. But envy was certainly present.

He felt a hand over his, and he turned to look at the only other person at the table. Dean looked at their joined hands for a moment, like he couldn't believe he had grabbed Castiel's hand anymore than the other boy could believe it. Either way, he gave a squeeze before he relented, releasing the hand from his hold.

"Um…" Dean started, frowning a bit. "Sorry, I thought you were… zoning or something."

"I was," Castiel said, letting out a breath of air, turning it around and capturing Dean's hand before it got too far away. It was a simple gesture, not even outwardly sexual, but Castiel felt his heart racing at the touch of their skin together… just holding hands. It felt like so long ago. It felt like a lifetime.

" _Muh-my, muh-my… give me love."_

Dean looked at their joined fingers for a moment before he caught Castiel's gaze once more. He looked like he was about to say something, and despite everything, Castiel was afraid. He didn't want to have any real conversation tonight. He just wanted to enjoy it, and they could talk about it in the morning.

"I would love to get a Grand Slam tonight," he said, "If you don't mind driving me."

"I don't mind at all, Cas. I'd be honored."

They fell silent again, and when Castiel turned back to Lucifer and Sam, he knew that Dean was focused on them, too. Castiel ran his thumb over the back of Dean's hand absently. Together, the pair of them watched as they turned to face sideways. Lucifer stopped whispering the words to Sam in favor of leaning down, capturing his lips between his own.

Castiel felt Dean squeeze his hand back, and he couldn't help but smile toward the dance floor.

* * *

To be honest, I was at prom, but I was a little more intoxicated than the rest of them. I wasn't really friends with the Novaks yet, but if I had known that it was that night that would get my foot in the door with them, I might have tried a little harder.

It seems weird to me to write about something in the past from my own point of view, but I'm sure if I asked Gabriel about it, it would turn into something perverse and I'm so close to the end now. I can't let him sidetrack me.

So I was drunk, even though it had been two hours since I got there (and a hour and a half since my date left me to hang around with Benny's jocks… most of them were straight after all,) but if I slipped away to the bathroom, nobody really questioned the water bottle full of vodka I was carrying around.

Maybe I should have known then that I had an alcohol dependency problem, but even if I didn't then, I do know now. Hanging around with Castiel definitely put things into perspective with addiction. I was getting better.

(Mostly because the Winchesters and Novaks mostly refuse to serve me when I came to their homes, but I digress.)

I was sitting with a vodka and coke at the soda bar when Gabriel came up to me. At the time, I only knew him as Castiel's younger brother; I didn't know him by name – I was a bit older, after all – but I recognized him as a Novak when he sat down next to me at the bar. He asked a teacher to get him a Shirley Temple and I snorted into my tainted drink.

When he said my name, I was kind of surprised. Nobody really ever saw me at high school. I was a quiet kid with fucked up parents. I was the only sophomore I knew who had an actual problem with alcohol – not just a casual drinker who drank to be cool – but something that helped me make it through the school day and the nights at home. People didn't address me by name. I wasn't on sports teams. I was an only child. I was one of the nameless, faceless kids at high school who either shot up the school or killed himself in his bedroom and wasn't liked enough to get the full-page spread in the yearbook. Until I started hanging out with the Novaks, I had no self worth. I had no reason to keep on going.

I had no reason to believe in myself.

"Could you do me a favor?" was the second thing Gabriel said to me after he said my name. I was pretty drunk; I'm not going to lie. I was still hung up on the fact that he knew who I was to think about denying him a favor. Nobody knew my name. I nodded. "My girlfriend – well, okay, she isn't actually my girlfriend yet, but… Kali… she's over there, dancing with my brother. Yellow dress? See her?"

"Yes," I said, trying my hardest not to slur my words.

"She kind of digs you. I was wondering if you would go dance with her."

"You want me to dance with your girlfriend?" That time, I knew I slurred.

"Yeah, I mean… don't try and steal her away from me or anything, but it would really make her happy if you would just dance one song," Gabriel gave a little shrug and offered me a grin that I had seen on Castiel a dozen of times before he was sent Grace. At the time, I only knew what the teacher said at the time: Castiel was sick and he was getting help. I seriously recognized a kindred spirit, though. He had been worse than I was. The grin was something the Novaks did to get what they wanted. Castiel didn't want to do the work in class. Gabriel wanted me to dance with his girlfriend.

I wasn't the only one who thought badly of the Novaks before I got to know them. You have to remember that we peasants didn't know what happened to their dad, either. We knew their mom was dead, but we never thought that their trust funds had stopped. We never knew that the elder three – who weren't even biologically related to the younger five – were working themselves to the bone to support them.

The Novaks were the one that divided the school that year for a cause nobody really knew. They were the ones to sell cheap alcohol to minors down at the club, and they were the ones who caused your friends to hate you for drinking down there. But even though to most kids – most _helpless bystanders_ to the feud between the twins – didn't like the Novaks, I couldn't help but feel something for Gabriel.

People don't just ask other dudes to dance with their prom dates.

And I looked and saw Castiel and Dean sitting together in the back like they used to, smiles on their faces, hands clinging to one another like they were afraid they'd fall off the world without the other. And I saw Lucifer and Sam – the devil and his boy king who started a righteous war that the rest of us had to pay for – looking so happy and loving.

There was more to the Novaks than what I knew of them. So I nodded. I agreed.

Gabriel wrapped his arm around my shoulder and led me to Kali.

I'm not blind, and Kali might be a good friend of mine now – she might be my best friend's girlfriend – but she wasn't then. She was just this girl who was way too hot for me (and way too hot for Gabriel, let's be honest) who was completely overjoyed to see me… to dance with me.

Sometimes people ask me why I moved in with Gabriel after high school, when we went to college together. I wish I had a better answer other than he was my best friend, but to be honest, it wasn't the first thought that came to my mind.

His girlfriend was fucking hot, and for some reason, she really liked me. That's the reason why any guy does anything, as far as I know… because someone they think is hot wants them to do it.

* * *

Crowley wasn't dancing. He was still pretty sick, and he was only at prom at all because it was the last one he'd get a chance to go to, and it was sort of a milestone. Like graduation. He wanted to be able to say he was there. Whether or not he had fun or danced wasn't a real issue. He wasn't going to have fun no matter where he was or what he'd be doing.

So he might as well torture himself watching Castiel.

" _Eyes on fire, eyes on fire and they burn from all the tears."_

The boy looked good. He was putting on weight again, and the suit kept enough of it a mystery, but Crowley knew that his ribs wouldn't be poking out anymore. Crowley had lost weight too, but not quite as much.

But Castiel looked really good, dancing with his brothers' girlfriends and Meg and sitting next to Dean. It only tore Crowley's heart completely in half a little bit when he saw them holding on to hands, smiling at each other, just like old times.

Only a little bit of excruciating physical pain.

" _I been cryin', I been cryin', I been dying over you."_

So Crowley tried to think about other things. He was leaving in a month – he was trying to convince his mom to commit herself in the meantime – but he couldn't be the only one who took care of her anymore. It was killing them both. He was going to move back London with his father and maybe go to college there.

Crowley thought about Lucifer – his rival turned ally – and thought that he would actually miss antagonizing the boy. He thought about Sam, who was just a kid when he was forced to fight, and was now the smiling happy person on the dance floor. He wasn't a kid anymore. Dean wasn't the enemy. And Castiel…

" _Tryin' ta hold, tryin' ta hold, but there's nothing to grasp so I let go."_

Castiel was standing right in front of him.

The boy was truly an angel. His hair was a bit matted from the sweat, but he kept the suit jacket on. The blue beneath it was a perfect match, and when he unbuttoned the top of the jacket to reach inside, Crowley felt his heart skip a beat.

" _I think I've finally had enough. I think I maybe think too much."_

They didn't say anything – it was a pattern that would last for a few years, but Crowley didn't know that at the time – instead, he watched as Castiel pulled the envelope from his pocket and put it down on the table. He slid it across to Crowley, but the British teen couldn't read the look in the other boy's eyes. It didn't look like pity, but it didn't look like hope, either.

Crowley didn't say anything, but he took the envelope in his hands and looked up. His eyes met Castiel's, and the blue-eyed boy offered him a half-smile, a shy, vulnerable thing, and he held out his hand.

Crowley stood immediately.

" _I think this might be it for us."_

It was so different, when Castiel wrapped his arms around Crowley's neck. It was so different from all the times he'd done it before, high out of his fucking mind and wanting something. It was simple, a press of two warm bodies together, and Crowley's arms wrapped around the boy's small waist, burying his face into his shoulder.

There was so much he wanted to say, but nothing needed to be said. He understood. He knew. This was some sort of goodbye. This was an end.

" _Blow me one last kiss."_

When Castiel pulled back, he cupped Crowley's face between his hands, and for a split second, Crowley thought he was going to kiss him. The British teen's eyes shut slightly, wishing, begging, for that. It might have happened, too, if it weren't for those meddling Novaks. Out of nowhere, Balthazar was behind Castiel's shoulder and Crowley could see Michael standing with his arms crossed in the background. Castiel's hands slipped away, but the half-smile remained.

He offered a nod, like some sort of gentleman, turned, and walked with his brothers back to the dance floor.

Crowley thought about ripping the envelope open here and reading whatever Castiel had to say to him, but the thought of it being cruel made him want privacy. He slipped it into his pocket and walked toward the door. There was nothing left for him here.

" _I'll go dancing alone. I will laugh. I'll get drunk. I'll take somebody home."_

On the way out, he saw Dean sitting by himself and noticed the other boy was watching him. Dean didn't look hurt or confused. He didn't look angry. He just looked tired. Crowley raised his hand in a sort of waving motion before walking out.

And Crowley hoped Dean took it how he meant it. He wasn't mocking him or waving in some sort of teasing way. He was conceding the victory. He was leaving them alone.

* * *

There was only half an hour left until crowning, and after that, the teenagers would disband. Sam was shaking by the open door where he and Lucifer were taking a breather. The May air was cooler than the ballroom which was radiating with teenage sweat and pheromones and it was driving the younger Winchester crazy.

His boyfriend was leaning against the door, looking up at the stars with his right hand in his pocket and his left hand running through his hair. He couldn't dig at his scalp with that hand – couldn't feel the bumps and imperfections he used to dig at to begin with – but he could recognize the feeling of a different texture, even if the fingers weren't strong enough to grip and tug at it.

Lucifer's hair and forehead were beaded with sweat from dancing, but the rise and fall of his chest was steady from their break. The jacket was unbuttoned, and the vest was tight against Lucifer's chest. There were at least three layers to get to the skin – four if he counted the suit jacket – but Sam could imagine it. He knew his boyfriend's body, his torso at least, and the thought of the sweat clinging at the dips in the muscles of his stomach was enough for Sam to lick his lips and avert his eyes.

There were girls clinging to boys in there. It was notorious for prom night. It was expected. Young girls repaid the elder boys who brought them with their virginity. Sam could count the number of girls who would likely give it up tonight on both of his hands, at least. He would probably need more hands than just the two.

Why couldn't Sam be one of them?

Part of him thought sixteen was kind of young, still. That part was afraid of what it could do to their relationship – but it's not like they could avoid sex forever – and that part was also afraid of the pain. He was smaller. He would be the one receiving. He could give himself up for Lucifer tonight.

But part of him was a sixteen year old boy who knew that his friends were all doing it. He wanted to give it up. He wanted to _take_ that. And it didn't matter if he was giving or receiving. Sex in anyway counted as losing his virginity, right?

Penetration was the loss of virginity. Right? It didn't matter who was sticking and who was being stuck. Wait, then what did lesbians consider losing their virginity?

Why was everything so hard to understand? Who even cared about outdated social norms anyway?

"You okay over there?" Lucifer asked, voice soft but deep. He had been singing most of the night, and his voice was raw from it. His head was turned, ducked slightly, a small smile turning the corners of his mouth up. It was fond, adoring. Sam felt his heart melt along with a chunk of the anxiety. He wanted to do this. He wanted to give this to Lucifer. He wanted to take this for himself.

"After crowning, you want to get out of here?" Sam asked, trying to decide if he should come on to Lucifer by physically coming on to him or if there was a slyer way to proposition his boyfriend. In the end, he put his hands in his pants pockets and tried to give Lucifer a meaningful look.

"We can't stay here all night," Lucifer joked, a brief grin flashing on his face until he recognized the look. His smile dropped, tilting his head with a frown. Sam didn't think he was catching on – they didn't talk about it unless it was to talk about how it wasn't going to happen – but Lucifer was probably desperately searching for something that would cause that look. "You mean like… to get something to eat?"

"No, Lucifer, I…" Sam bit his lip and looked down. The older boy was already in front of him, hands on Sam's biceps. It was like Lucifer expected him to ask for the world. "No, I mean like a hotel or something."

"Why?"

"Are you kidding me? Why else would two people in a committed relationship get a hotel room on prom night?"

"Oh," Lucifer said, pulling his hands off of Sam and looking at them like they had somehow been burned. Sam looked up at him, the pair of them both frowning. When Lucifer looked back up over his hands, he asked, "You want to fuck me?"

"Jesus Christ, Lucifer," Sam hissed, leaning forward. Despite the older boy's attempt to remove himself earlier, he caught Sam against his chest, moving his arms around the boy's neck. "I sort of thought it'd go the other way but whatever you want."

"I… I don't…" Lucifer reached his hands out, fingers touching lightly at Sam's neck – pointer finger just behind his ear, pinky closer to the shoulder, his thumbs farther up Sam's jaw, closer to his chin – and Sam felt his breath catch in his lungs. It was so gentle, so careful and loving, but it contrasted with the worry lines in Lucifer's forehead, the frown set on his face, and the tears making his blue eyes shine in the moonlight. "Is that what you want?"

"No, don't cry," Sam whispered, nearly in a panic. He shook his head, gripped at Lucifer's hips, trying to keep him grounded. "Stop it, this is supposed to be a happy thing. This… I love you. This is what people in love do."

Lucifer tried to pull back, but Sam gripped tighter. The older boy was shaking his head, and Sam tried to think of a reason he'd react like that. He'd always led Sam to believe it was his age that they were holding off for. But he was… the consent age… but Sam thought back to what Lucifer had said about sex in the past. He thought he ruined Lilith. And then Meg and Ruby… was he afraid of it? Was he afraid it would change something, too?

"We can," Lucifer started nodding, trying to grip back to Sam with his weak hands. "I love you and I will try to prove it to you."

"That's not… I know you love me, Lucifer." Is that what the girls had said to him when he asked them if they wanted to? That it wras a proof of love? "Stop, we won't. I don't want to anyway."

"You do," Lucifer said. "I'll do that for you. It's fine, Sam. We'll get a hotel. I just… I wanted to _feel_ you the first time."

"What do you mean?"

Lucifer's hands found Sam's face again, the back of his left knuckles rubbing against the stubble on the younger boy's jaw. His hands. His right hand wasn't bad, but his left couldn't close into a fist. It couldn't feel anything more than pain and different textures. It was like having his hand asleep, Lucifer had said once. There was sensation but they got lost when they ran through the damaged nerves.

"I want you to feel me," Sam whispered, frown set on his jaw. He buried his face in Lucifer's shoulder, unable to look at his expression. It was filled with worry, a desire to please but fear instead of actual desire. It was everything, Sam realized. He wasn't over what he'd done to the girls. He wasn't over what he'd done to himself and his hands. Lucifer wasn't consenting, even if he said he was. He was distressed. He didn't want to lose Sam. That didn't sound like consent. He wasn't ready. And Sam was relieved. He wasn't really ready himself. "This isn't about me. This is about us. I don't want it if you don't want it. You told me you'd wait forever for me. I'll wait for you, too."

Lucifer tried to guide Sam off his shoulder to look at him, trying to gage if he really meant what he said. Something twisted in the pit of Sam's stomach that the boy could worry about it like that. Did he really think he had to do something he didn't want to do to keep Sam around? Did he think that little of him?

"I love you," Sam said, the conviction in his voice surprising himself. But he needed Lucifer to know, to understand. There was nobody else for Sam. They were entwined. One soul ripped in half and shared by two bodies. Instead, Sam couldn't think of the words to express what he was feeling because there weren't words. Love wasn't enough, but it was all he had. "I _love_ you."

Slowly, Lucifer started to nod. Sam sighed with relief and put his head back against his boyfriend's shoulder, clinging to him. He almost didn't hear the words in his ear, but he felt the rumble from the other boy's chest.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm trying."

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

"I love you, too. You know that, right?" Lucifer's arms were solid weight around Sam.

"I know."

"Hey," Castiel clasped Sam on the back, since he was closer to the opening of the door. Sam knew the look he was giving Castiel wasn't really warranted. He couldn't possibly know what he was interrupting. He didn't have the courtesy to look embarrassed about breaking up their moment, but seeing the grin on his face was a rarity and it was hard to stay mad at him when he looked happy. "Dean is driving us to Denny's after prom. He's gonna stop by our house so we can take our pills, first. Do you two want to go… I mean, if you don't already have plans or anything?"

Sam couldn't tell if Castiel was asking to be polite, or he didn't want to be alone with Dean. He seemed at ease with either option, and Sam couldn't help but grin at the thought of all of them being okay enough to reach that point. He drew back from Lucifer and tried to see what he wanted to do. He would do what Lucifer wanted.

But Lucifer just grinned, "We can go if you want. You don't have to give me those eyes."

"What eyes? These are my eyes."

"No, you gave him puppy eyes," Castiel said, grin growing wider. "You do it when you want something."

"I do not."

"You do," Castiel insisted. "Though I can't tell if people do what you want because they find it cute or pathetic."

"Be nice, Castiel," Lucifer warned, but he was grinning. The three of them walked back inside.

"I am. I thought teasing was a sign of friendship," Castiel offered a confused look at Lucifer, then dropped his sight to Sam. "I only meant to make a friendly jest."

It was the first time Castiel had vocalized their friendship sober, and Sam couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "I know, Cas. Denny's sounds great."

When Lucifer wrapped his arms around Sam to resume dancing, he saw that his boyfriend was smiling as well. And Sam realized something that a lot of people don't ever learn. Sex doesn't make prom. Sex doesn't make a relationship. What matters is love and friendship. And Sam had that. He didn't need the sex right now. He already had everything he could ever hope for.

* * *

Crowning was happening soon. Castiel could tell by the way Charlie and the other teachers were bringing the crowns and flowers to the front. Everyone was dancing to some pop song that Castiel didn't know, and he stood near Dean by the tables, trying to justify asking the other boy to dance the final slow song with him.

There was only something romantic about slow dancing if you wanted there to be. Castiel had danced with Meg, Bela, and Kali. The girls pressed their cheeks to Castiel's chest, but there hadn't been anything romantic about it. It was like dancing with a friend with Meg, and like dancing with sisters for the other two girls. Two people could slow dance platonically.

In theory.

He wasn't sure if he and Dean could.

There was too much history between them, too much hope for a future. Castiel didn't want to risk their friendship, he didn't want to risk his treatment and rush into something before he was alright with himself. But Castiel wanted this, and he was searching for excuses.

When the song started, Castiel shut his eyes. It was a favorite band of his, even though Dean had really never liked Castiel's music. Castiel reached out blindly, his hand knocking against Dean's, and he felt the way the boy turned his hand and accepted Castiel's like this was something they still did.

" _I've been roaming around always looking down at all I see."_

Castiel hadn't forgiven himself completely. He was sure Dean hadn't forgiven him either. But they had forgiven each other enough for right now.

"You can't go your entire senior prom without dancing to one song," Castiel said, eyes opening and giving a smile to Dean. The other man was stunning – skin still glowing like he'd spent a week outside at the beach, freckles painting his face, eyes shining from under his eyelids – and the suit only added to it. Dean was somewhere between beautiful and handsome, and Castiel would never get over the fact that once, Dean had loved him. And he might love him again someday.

"You don't have to, Cas. I really don't mind."

" _You know that I could use somebody."_

"I would like to, if you –"

"Yes. I would."

" _Someone like you and all you know and how you speak."_

Castiel led Dean closer to the crowd of couples swaying together on the floor. Balthazar and Bela looked totally in love. Even Gabriel and Kali, who weren't actually dating in any official capacity, were giving off the fondness in waves. Michael and Hester were pressed close together, and unless Castiel was mistaken, his brother hadn't had that hickey on his neck when the night started.

Castiel stopped them closest to Lucifer and Sam, and when he placed his hands at Dean's shoulders, he caught the grins from the two of them. They tried to hide it pretty well – like this wasn't their plan all along – but Castiel ignored them in favor of nodding at Dean, encouraging him to put his hands on his hips.

" _You know that I could use somebody… someone like you."_

They had a lot of space between them, they looked like awkward kids at semi-formals, but Castiel didn't want to push his luck. It didn't take long, however, for Dean to catch his eye. The elder Winchester's fingers twitched at Castiel's hips, and he leaned forward to ask, "Is it okay if we… I mean, do you mind if…"

"Yes, Dean," Castiel said, taking a step closer. He let his hands push back, his elbows resting on Dean's shoulders with their new closeness. He felt Dean's hands snake from around his hips to wrap around the small of his back, keeping him close. Dean moved his head closer, and Castiel felt Dean's shoulders rise with the breath. Castiel didn't blame him; Dean smelled like he always used to, too. It was warm and comforting. It was like home.

" _I hope it's gonna make you notice… someone like me."_

Castiel knew that they couldn't dance platonically. There was never anything platonic about their relationship. He tried to keep his hands from passing any boundaries. He really did try. But without his consent, his hands found Dean's hair, fingers running through the short strands against the grain, enjoying the feel of it against his palm.

That was Dean's breaking point. His hands ran up Castiel's back, pausing at the base of his shoulder blades. Somehow, they managed to switch. Castiel was trailing a line over Dean's spine, remembering the map of Dean's back like it had been yesterday that he'd seen it. He pressed the heel of his hand against Dean's hip bones, running his palms up Dean's chest. Dean wasn't any better. His fingers touched at Castiel's neck; they ran through his hair. They traced his jaw.

" _I'm ready now, I'm ready now, I'm ready now."_

Dean caught Castiel's chin in one of his hands, angling his face up so they were looking at each other once more. Dean's lips were parted and wet, like he'd just licked or bit them. His cheeks were flushed, and his pupils were huge. Something caught in Castiel's chest. He didn't know when they stopped dancing, but Castiel's fingers gripped at Dean's undershirt at his sides, just over the cummerbund.

"This was a mistake," Dean whispered.

"I know," Castiel sounded frantic, even to his own ears.

"I want to kiss you."

Castiel begged his mouth to not beg for it. He managed to squeak out another, "I know."

Dean grinned, "Well then, smarty pants, tell me something you don't know."

"I don't know why you aren't kissing me."

" _Someone like you, somebody."_

Dean's face grew serious. His hand slid across Castiel's face, pressing back until it was curled around the back of Castiel's neck. His eyes started to close. Castiel mirrored him, a small smile on his face as he waited for Dean to pull him in and kiss him. His chest beat against his rib cage, but instead, he felt a press of lips against his forehead and then Dean was hugging him around the shoulders, bringing Castiel tight against his chest.

Castiel breathed Dean in.

He could tell that Dean wanted to say something. He wanted to explain, but Castiel knew. He hoped Dean could feel his smile under the layers of clothes. Just in case, he pushed closer to him, arms wrapped tight around his waist.

" _I've been roaming around always looking down at what I see."_

* * *

When the lights turned on after the last song, most of the people cleared off the dance floor toward the tables they had inhabited earlier in the night. Well, most people didn't have tables, but the Novaks did. Dean had been doing a pretty good job of saving their table and watching over their stuff all night. As Balthazar sat in a chair and Bela wrapped her arm around his shoulders, sitting on his lap, Balthazar figured he should thank Dean.

But where was he?

Balthazar watched as Gabriel and Kali took two seats at the front of the table; Michael and Hester were taking seats next to them. Sam was dragging Lucifer back to the table, but Lucifer's other arm was wrapped around Castiel's shoulder. And unless Balthazar was very much mistaken, Dean was walking slightly behind Castiel, the very tips of their fingers interlaced like they thought if they only _sort of_ held hands, nobody would realize it.

When Lucifer finally let Castiel go so he and Sam could take two of the three remaining seats, there was a round of applause from the Novaks and their girlfriends. Castiel sat down, dropping Dean's hand with annoyed look on his face. There weren't seats left so Dean just grabbed the back of Castiel's chair and leaned against it.

The sarcastic comment was on Balthazar's tongue, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Bela elbowed him in the ribs. "No."

"What?"

"Don't say anything."

"I was just going to congratulate them," Balthazar whined, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend's waist. "I swear."

"You're lying," Bela countered. "You be nice to them because you never know what could happen. You may need them someday, and they won't help if you piss them off all the time now."

"I love my brother."

"I know you do. So be nice."

Instead of arguing, he turned his attention to where Charlie was about to name the two runner's up for prom king. Only seniors could be voted for, and only seniors could vote. It was usually a popularity contest. There were rarely surprises.

And it wasn't much of a surprise when Lucifer and Benny were runners up. Nor was it a surprise when Michael was king. He was the one who planned prom after all. Each of them got a sash and a rose (and Michael got a crown). Benny put the rose in his mouth, but Lucifer gave it to Sam.

Michael gave his to Hester, too.

But to be honest, nobody ever cared about the prom kings. The real fight was for the queens. The two runner ups were girls that Balthazar didn't know personally, but they were the typical girls who won. Rich girls, mean girls, girls who couldn't believe they lost.

The queen would win a bouquet of roses and a tiara.

Nobody really cared who won prom queen, at least, nobody at Balthazar's table. Kali was too young to win it – but she probably would in two more years – and Hester was Michael's girlfriend, but she was mostly a quiet, devout girl. She was pretty, but often overlooked. Instead of listening, Balthazar leaned into Bela's shoulder, grinning up at her.

"I know I never say it, but you do know I love you, right?"

"Bela Talbot."

Bela had started to smile at Balthazar, but she turned and frowned when she heard her name. Their whole table was looking at them – fuck, everyone was – did he somehow manage to announce that over the PA system through his phone?

Castiel leaned over, his grabby hands touching Bela's knee, and if Balthazar didn't know he was gay he'd punch his brother in the face right here and now. "Go on," Castiel whispered, a grin on his face.

Balthazar loved Bela, but other people didn't always see her in the best of light. Between her shitty father and their accident and her moving over here to live with her uncle, people might have pitied her. They used that to excuse her hardened shell. She didn't let people close to her because she had always ended up hurt.

But she was fucking beautiful and radiant. She was loving and kind. She was amazing.

"Come on, Bela," Charlie said, a small smile on her face.

Balthazar started to stand, which made his girlfriend either stand or fall. She chose to stand. Another quick glance back at Balthazar and she was walking around the table and toward Charlie. When she turned back around, with a sash and a bouquet and a tiara, Michael stood. The others stood too.

And by the end of it, all of them were standing.

"And now the king and queen will lead us in our first dance."

Balthazar followed Michael to Bela. He was going to warn him – threaten him if he had to – but Michael held his hand open to the girl, palm up, and she took it. Bela caught sight of Balthazar and pushed her flowers at him, then followed Michael to the dance floor.

"I can never thank you enough for all the things you've done for us and Balthazar, sister," Michael said, right before he pulled her the rest of the way in, leading her in a slow dance.

It was like the brother of the groom dancing with the bride. And as Balthazar watched them dance, watched as Bela would turn to grin at him, surprise and love painting her face beautifully, Balthazar knew he should be the one thanking Bela.

God, did he love that girl.

"Hey," Balthazar didn't need to turn around to know it was Hester's voice. Around them, other couples were starting to fill in. "Would you mind dancing with me?"

Balthazar gave Bela's flowers to Sam – he was the closest – and took Hester's hand. He hadn't ever cared for Hester, but looking at her now, he knew what Michael had meant when thanked Bela. When he called her sister. They were a family, all of them. The Novaks and their girlfriends and the Winchesters. They were family.

Balthazar leaned closer to Hester, offering her a hug as they danced. Balthazar followed Michael's lead, and whispered, "Thank you, sister."

* * *

After crowning, a handful of people stayed to dance for the last fifteen minutes, but almost everyone left. The limos weren't out there to pick anyone up – a handful of parents came to watch crowning or to drop of cars – and Dean watched as Gabriel and Michael walked off in two different directions, likely to walk their girlfriends home.

The direction that Balthazar and Bela walked off to was not toward either of their houses, but if Dean knew Lawrence correctly, there was an upscale hotel down that street.

Sam put his suit jacket back on, fingers finding Lucifer's, and they led their way back to the Novak's house to get their pills and the Impala. Ahead of Dean, Lucifer and Sam were arguing about what they were going to eat, but their grins told the real tale. They had had a good night, and Dean was happy for them.

Beside him, Castiel was silent except for the soft click of his shoes against the pavement. His arms were drawn tight against his tiny frame, and Dean wondered if he was allowed to wrap his arms around him and pull him close. You know, just to keep him warm. Not because of any other desire to actually keep Castiel close to him.

The shorter boy looked up, a soft look spreading onto his features. He bumped his shoulder into Dean's, but didn't let his hands down. And that was fine, Dean tried to convince himself. They weren't together. They weren't dating. They were just two kids who danced to one song together at prom.

It was so not fine.

Dean wanted to wait in the car when they walked the two blocks to the Novak house, but Sam followed Lucifer in without a thought and if Dean didn't go in, they would question his motives. Dean had the audacity to hope that since every other brother was walking off in different directions, the older ones wouldn't be there to ask them what they were up to.

But alas, Zachariah, Uriel, and Raphael were sitting around kitchen table, drinking coffee like parents. It was like they expected their brothers to bring someone home, and they were the scaring off committee. And to be honest, they were pretty intimidating.

Sam didn't seem to mind it. When Lucifer walked off toward his bedroom, Sam just joined them at the table. Castiel nudged Dean again, giving him some sort of look that Dean couldn't read, before he walked off down the hall too. Dean didn't have any place to hide, so he just walked over and joined them.

"It was pretty fun," Sam was telling them. "Michael won prom king and Bela won queen. It was pretty awesome."

"And what about you, Dean?" Zachariah asked. Dean almost couldn't believe the older Novaks knew who he was, but that was kind of wishful thinking, wasn't it? They probably sat around and cursed his name for fun, after what he did to their little brother. "Did you have fun?"

Dean just nodded.

"And where are you taking them now?" Uriel asked, his frown hidden by the mug at his mouth.

"Denny's," Sam said with a grin.

"And what are your intentions?" It was Raphael this time, and even though it seemed like an open question, his eyebrows raised and he looked straight at Dean.

There was something different about Raphael. Dean didn't ever really know him personally. He only knew him from pictures. There was something different about his face – softer – and his hair was longer. He wondered if the Novaks could even see the change or if they were too close, if this was too gradual.

"Food," Dean said, honestly. Those were his intentions, after all. But he frowned a little bit at Raphael, unable to place it. He didn't just look different. In the pictures he was stressed out and unhappy. There was almost something radiating from him now, like a small seedling getting ready to bloom. "You look nice."

The look of confusion on Zachariah's, Uriel's, and Sam's faces were priceless. Whatever it was, they couldn't see it. Raphael just looked a little stunned, dipping his head a little bit. He almost looked shy, and when he asked, "Nice?" his voice was just a tad higher than it had been, like he forgot to try and act a certain way.

"Yeah. Like, good. You look happy."

"I am… getting there, Dean. Thank you," Raphael looked up, offering Dean a look that meant something, but Dean couldn't figure it out. He stood then, his fingers tightening over Uriel's shoulders. "It's late brothers, we should go to bed."

"What?" Uriel all but cried.

"We're doing the right thing here, Raphael," Zachariah insisted, but he still had the tone of an indignant child. "We have to know their intensions for our brothers. We still have three more coming home."

"Don't count on it," Sam mumbled behind a glass of water.

"Their intensions are pure," Raphael insisted. "They always have been. Now let our brothers go in peace. You both have to work in the morning anyway."

By the time Raphael got his elder brothers up the stairs, the younger Novaks were exiting their rooms with pills in their hands. They took turns at the sink – though Dean was pretty sure that Castiel could swallow pills without them at this point, then felt really guilty for even thinking it – and then they were piling into the Impala.

Dean wasn't sure if Sam gave up shotgun to keep Castiel near Dean or because he wanted to snuggle against the blond man in the back seat. Dean purposefully ignored their murmurs and whispers, even going so far as to turn the radio on when Sam started pressing kisses over the other boy's neck.

Instead, Dean focused on driving, and every once and a while on how Castiel leaned his head against the window, eyes shut, small smile resting on his face like he was having a good dream.

It didn't take long to get to Denny's, and with the exception of two or three cars parked in the back part of the lot; the Impala was the only one in sight. They were the only ones in the diner, and their elderly waitress cooed over their tuxes. Dean wasn't sure if she had a clue that they were dressed as two couples or if she just figured they were four kids eating after prom instead of getting wasted and making questionable decisions.

They were tired, Dean could tell, because Sam was leaning against Lucifer, and Dean was pretty sure Castiel fell asleep resting mostly against the booth, but his head rested against Dean's shoulder. Lucifer offered, "Drowsiness is a side effect of his pills."

"Not yours?"

"Nope," Lucifer took a sip of the milkshake he ordered, adjusting his arm around Sam who looked infinitely more comfortable in his resting. "I'm crazier than him. Side effects of mine mess with my immune system."

"You're not crazier," Sam whined, but it made it sound like he was dissing Castiel and he knew it without needing to see the glare both of the seniors were shooting him. "Neither of you are crazy. Crazy's the wrong word."

"Crazy's fun," Lucifer admitted quietly. "I can laugh off crazy like the Joker couldn't. Disorder is harder for me. That there's something in my brain that compels me to want to…" Lucifer took a breath and shrugged.

"You'll be alright," Dean said, shifting his arm so he could wrap it around Castiel, hoping it would be more comfortable for him. "Even if you slip up again, you've always got us to find you and call the ambulance."

Sam made a horrified sound, but Lucifer gave a small chuckle. And even though the Novaks were the ones named for the celestial being, Dean vowed to watch over them like they were their guardian angels. Dean just hoped that if it ever came to that again, the ambulance could get there fast enough.

They were quiet until their food arrived. Dean woke Castiel up, and to his credit, Castiel didn't look embarrassed or angry about where he'd fallen asleep. He just cracked his eyes open, sat up, and started cutting into his over-easy eggs.

"I thought you didn't eat pig, Cas," Dean teased, poking at the bacon like he was aiming to steal it.

"It's turkey bacon," the boy said, swatting Dean's hand away. "It's better for you."

They were quiet for a long time as they ate, and Dean wasn't sure if it was because everyone was getting tired or they were all starving. It was probably a bit of both because Castiel ate all of his Grand Slam, but Lucifer and Sam could barely take down three-quarters of their skillet meals after devouring their appetizer salads. Sam pushed his Apple Crisp desert at Dean with a groan, but Castiel stared at Lucifer's banana split with the same look a puppy learning a trick gives his reward treat.

It was sad how long Castiel waited for Lucifer to give him the untouched sundae. It almost turned into a game as Lucifer pushed the meat around his skillet, ignoring the looks and the whines (and the sundae).

Dean wasn't sure if it was more funny or cruel, but it was definitely both. It was extra cruel when Lucifer finally pushed the ice cream over, and Castiel put a spoonful of ice cream upside down in his mouth so it hit his tongue before the roof of his mouth. His eyes practically rolled back in his head, and even Sam laughed at the reaction Dean had to the groan he let out.

It was past midnight when they finally went up to the counter to pay for their meal. Dean started digging in his pockets – so was Lucifer – but Sam and Castiel were both leaning against the wall like they knew they weren't going to be asked to pay. Dean didn't mind paying for Castiel, even if they totally weren't dating, but when Lucifer pulled a crumpled dollar bill out his pocket and opened it, Dean saw it was a hundred. Their food hadn't come close to that but he gave their waitress a tired smile and waved the change away, wrapping his arm around Sam's shoulder and leading him out to the car.

Castiel didn't expect Dean to pay. He knew his brother would.

Dean was more annoyed with that than he had any right to be.

Lucifer and Sam were quiet in the back as he drove him. He wasn't really all that tired, and he could see that Castiel was pretty much awake now, too. He was leaning forward, examining the knobs for the radio and the buttons that controlled the cassette player.

His fingers traced over the buttons and lower, drawing lines toward the glove box. His fingers spread, moving up higher. He ran his palm over the top of the dashboard, and Dean felt the need to shift, to _hide_ even though Castiel wasn't paying attention to him. He kept driving with one hand, letting the other fall in his lap, just in case.

The attention the other boy was paying to his baby was… well it was just…

"I was afraid I'd never get to ride in her," Castiel's eyes left the dash to find Dean's in the darkness. Every few feet they would pass under a street light and their features would be visible before they were glancing through the dark once more.

Dean turned onto their street, trying to focus on the fact that his younger brother was in the back and he had to get him home safe. He couldn't ogle Castiel and kill them all. So he focused on the road.

"I'm glad you did get the chance," Dean admitted, pulling the car into the driveway, but gripping at the wheel a little tighter.

"Me too," Castiel replied, lifting his fingers off Baby's dash. It hovered in the air for a second – Dean heard Lucifer and Sam's doors open and slam; he could see them out the window past Castiel, wrapping their arms around each other as they walked up to the house – but Castiel's hand dropped. He wanted to touch Dean, but he couldn't justify it.

They might have dressed alike and danced at prom. Castiel might have fallen asleep on his shoulder and he might have felt Baby up. But they weren't dating.

There was no justification for the touching.

After an awkward few seconds, Castiel shot Dean a sad, pained look, unbuckled his seatbelt, and left the car. Dean followed after him.

Lucifer and Sam were leaning against each other near the kitchen table. John was sitting back in the chair with a half-finished crossword in front of him, hands on his stomach, listening as the pair relayed the details of the evening. Dean admired the ease on his father's face. There's a difference, Dean knew, between accepting and tolerating, and John beamed up at the boys in their matching tuxes, not caring that his sixteen-year-old son had an almost nineteen-year-old man with mental health issues leaning up against him from behind with his arms wrapped around the smaller boy's waist.

Dean pulled the suit jacket off with a grin.

Lucifer was telling John about Balthazar's music hacking when Castiel crossed in front of Dean, his jacket hanging over his forearm. He touched Sam's arm lightly, like he didn't want to disturb the conversation, but Dean heard him when he asked, "Could I borrow some pajamas?"

Sam turned around, bypassing Castiel to shoot a look at Dean. The elder Winchester grinned and gestured toward the stairs. "I got you covered, Cas."

Castiel followed Dean to his room with no reservations, even though he hadn't stepped foot in the room since they were dating. The four of them had spent a bit of time in Sam's room, but there had been something unspoken about Dean's. It wasn't neutral. But when Dean opened his bottom drawer, Castiel took a step forward, reaching into the drawer to pull out a pair of his own pajama bottoms.

Castiel held them up, like he wasn't sure they were his, his brows furrowing. Dean went to his closet, and when he returned, Castiel had opened his second drawer, one of his own shirts pressed up to his nose.

"Here's some hangers for your prom stuff. I didn't even ask if you wanted a ride home. I can still drive you back there, if you want. Or I can get blankets for the couch," Dean said.

"You kept my clothes?" Castiel asked, muffled behind his shirt. "I didn't even know… I didn't remember where they were. They're clean, too. You washed them recently?"

"No. I mean, I can't take the credit. I told Sam to give them back to you months ago, but he gave them back to me last week. I… I was going to give them back but my dad washed them and put them back in the dresser and I just…"

"I need them back," Castiel said, turning to Dean. He winced at the sound of his voice. "I mean, I need some of them back. I don't really like Balthazar's old v-necks all that much."

Dean laughed, "They're your clothes, Cas. Take 'em all."

"I should probably keep some here," Castiel said, drawing his shirt away to reveal a sheepish smile. "If you don't mind, that is."

"Mi casa, su casa," Dean grinned, feeling giddy with no right to.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel deposited his pajamas on Dean's bed, taking a coat hanger and slipping the arms of his jacket around it. He started unbuttoning his vest, and Dean took in a sharp inhale of breath. Castiel looked up at him, vaguely pink around his ears, but with an easy smile on his face. "The couch will be fine."

"What?" Dean asked, then drew his eyes from Castiel's hands up to his face. His smile turned into a knowing smirk. "Oh," Dean said, setting down his own jacket and the rest of the hangers on his bed. "Oh, yeah. I'll just go grab some blankets."

Dean swore he heard Castiel laughing when he shut the door behind him on his way out. Dean set up the two couches before he realized that the last thing Castiel would want to do is fall asleep in the same room as him. Maybe Lucifer would want to sleep on the couch.

Dean walked into the kitchen, but John was alone, rinsing out a cup. "Where are they?"

"It's prom night, boy. I'm not asking questions. Except do you and Cas want some hot chocolate before bed?"

"We aren't together, dad."

"What the hell does that have to do with hot chocolate? But if you're gonna be pissy, you can make it yourself. Did you have fun, at least?"

Dean did, and he lost track of time when he was telling his dad about it. Soon enough, Castiel appeared next to him in pajamas bottoms that clung just a little tightly to his hips with the weight he'd put on since Grace and the shirt was still loose enough to leave something to the imagination. When he started putting in his own two-cents about prom, Dean went back to his room to change and brush his teeth. If he said, "If you get my little brother pregnant, I am going to kill you," none too quietly outside Sam's room, well then that was nobody's business but his own.

When he got back downstairs, John was up in the master bedroom and Castiel was curled up under the blankets on the love-seat. "I figured," Castiel started, rubbing his over the blanket, "that you're taller. You should get the bigger couch."

"I came down to say that I can sleep in my bed," Dean hit the landing, walking toward the couch even as he gestured to the steps behind him. "I don't want to make anything weird."

"Okay," Castiel said, nodding, but his eyes were open wide, begging, and Dean wasn't stupid. "If you're not tired yet, we could watch something until you go back up."

"Sure thing, Cas," Dean said, turning on the TV and turning off the light. He let Castiel decide, but gave a happy sigh when the younger boy chose Family Guy. How many nights had they fallen asleep to this together?

They didn't talk or anything, and Dean was more than okay with that. He just listened to the sound of Castiel's breathing even out and shallow, waiting until he was sure Castiel was sleeping to allow himself to drift off too.

* * *

Sam put the rose Lucifer had given him on his desk, along with his boutonniere. He draped his jacket over the back of his chair and turned around. Lucifer was folding up his sash, setting it on Sam's dresser. His boutonniere was placed on top of it. He didn't see Sam coming up behind him until his hands were on the back of his jacket, easing it off.

Sam had just meant it to be polite. He hadn't meant it to be a come on. He truly, honestly didn't. But if Lucifer's fingers worked down the buttons of Sam's vest, well that was only a bonus, right?

They silently undressed each other – the room loud with the sound of their heavy breathing and the hum of the MacBook that Sam had tapped awake when he walked into the room – and neither of them mentioned that it took Lucifer as long to unbutton Sam's vest as it took Sam to unbutton Lucifer's vest, shirt, and to pull his tie from around his neck. The blond boy didn't seem to mind that he was just pushing the vest from his boyfriend's shoulders while he was standing there in a plain white t-shirt and his slacks.

Sam didn't rush – he didn't help – he just watched Lucifer's face as the older boy worked on untying his tie. He struggled loosen it with one hand, and Sam could see the growing frustration, but that was when they heard Dean outside.

"If you get my little brother pregnant, I am going to kill you."

Sam's face broke into a grin, but Lucifer growled, actually growled low in his throat, and tugged on the tie, pulling Sam to him. He kissed harder than Sam expected him too, his left arm latching around Sam's shoulders to keep him there while his right hand still worked on the tie. Sam whimpered when the kiss was broken long enough for his boyfriend to pull the tie off over his head. The second the material was over, Sam tugged Lucifer back to him, helping him with the buttons on his dress shirt.

Before it was even off his shoulders, Lucifer was pushing his hips against Sam's, causing the younger boy to take a step back. With the momentum started, Lucifer easily walked Sam toward his bed. He didn't so much push Sam back as he let him fall, and with the kiss broken, Sam was laying on his back on his bed with Lucifer standing between his legs. They could take a moment to appreciate the other.

"Sometimes I want to kill your brother," Lucifer hissed, laying a palm flat over Sam's stomach, pushing up his shirt enough to get at his skin.

"I want to kill him all the time. Join the club," Sam grinned, kicking off his shoes. Lucifer followed suit, kicking both pairs out of the way so neither of them could trip in the morning. It slowed down; Lucifer's hands traveling up the expanse of the younger boy's torso, his hips _almost_ close enough for Sam to feel. The younger boy inched his way down the bed, but Lucifer grinned, pulling himself back. The grin grew when he heard Sam's long suffering sigh.

"There will be time for that," he promised.

"I respect you and your decisions and your life choices," Sam said, even as his hands went to his belt and started working it off. "But I got to get into pajamas."

"You're trying to tease me," Lucifer said, amused. Sam lifted his hips enough to pull the belt free, a grin on his face as he tossed it aside and started working on the button of his pants.

"Is it working?"

The look on his boyfriend's face turned devilish. His hands left his torsos to trail down to Sam's legs. They stopped over the top of his thighs, holding him still as he leaned his hips forward, pressing himself against Sam. The younger boy flushed instantly, he gave a small hiss and tried to pull away. Lucifer's hold wasn't enough to keep him there, and Sam scrambled up the bed enough so he was sitting. His legs were still open, Lucifer was still between them, but they weren't pressed against each other anymore.

Lucifer actually laughed, leaning over enough to press his forehead against Sam's. His hips were against the mattress, but Sam was far enough back that he couldn't feel him. "When you propositioned me at prom, did you have a clue what you were asking for?"

"Yes," Sam insisted, closing his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Lucifer's shoulders. "I've seen porn."

"Gay porn?" Lucifer asked, and Sam could hear the smirk on his face. "Cause I don't know if you know this, but I've got the same equipment that you do."

"I know," Sam whined. "I just wasn't expecting it."

"Well in case you had any doubts about how I feel about you," Lucifer pulled back, and Sam was surprised by the kind look on his face. The smirk was gone, and it had been replaced with something softer, lighter. His thumbs were rubbing lightly at Sam's thighs, like he desperately wanted to move them closer but he was holding himself back. "I love you, Sam. And you really aren't bad to look at either."

"Well then," Sam said, taking a deep inhale. His blush was still furious, but there was something else on his face, some sort of determination that had Lucifer tilting his head in curiosity. "Then I don't want you to doubt how I feel about you either."

Lucifer looked down as the younger boy's hand fell so it was pressed down against Lucifer's right hand, still on his thigh. He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled until Lucifer's palm was flat against Sam's lap. The older boy let out a completely unmanly, inhuman noise. He was so insistent on tugging his hand away, he almost lost his balance. Sam laughed at his flailing, using the space to hop off his bed and go to his dresser to get pajamas.

"That wasn't nice," Lucifer pouted from behind him. Sam just snorted, listening as Lucifer mumbled. When he dropped his pants just long enough to pull up some pajamas, he half expected Lucifer to get some sort of payback. When he turned around, his boyfriend was facing away, rocking back and forth on his toes, hands folded in front of him. He tugged his shirt off and added it to the rest of their clothes piled on the floor.

"Didn't you know I have the same equipment as you?" Sam asked.

"Fuck you," Lucifer said, but there was no venom at all. If anything, it was more of a desperate whine.

"I tried to tell you to do that once," Sam said, climbing into bed. Once Lucifer heard the ruffle of the sheets, he turned around, walking to the dresser to grab some shorts. He shot a look at Sam, then whined again when he saw the boy had taken his shirt off, too.

"Give me some privacy," Lucifer said, his body still half-turned away from Sam. The younger boy chuckled, but turned around so he was facing the wall. Thirty seconds later the blankets pulled back and Lucifer got in, but he didn't turn toward him like he usually did. Sam smiled, enjoying the embarrassment as long as it was mutual, but his smile fell away when neither of them moved toward each other.

"Cuddle me," Sam demanded.

"What's 23 x 57?"

"What?" Sam asked, rolling over to face his boyfriend with a frown. Lucifer was facing him and there was as much space between them as possible on the twin bed. Which is to say, not much.

"7 x 3 is 21. 7 x 2 is 14 plus the 2 from the other one is 16. So 161," Lucifer closed his eyes, imagining the problem in his head.

"Um," Sam said, licking his lips. "Then a zero for a place holder. 5 x 3 is 15. 5 times 2 is 10 plus the 1 is 11. So 1150."

"Those two added together is 1311," Lucifer opened his eyes with a small smile, a hand running over Sam's bare side. "Is your boner gone or do you need another one?"

"Another one."

"Someday, two-digit multiplication will be a messed up sex game, ya'know?"

"Lucifer, shut up and give me another one."

Eventually, they fell asleep, too. And just for the record, if you asked Sam a two-digit multiplication problem now, he can do it in seconds. They had a lot of practice.

* * *

The next morning when John woke up, he sort of figured his boys had had a good night. Call it fatherly intuition or whatever, but when he peeked his head into Sam's room, like he did every morning, Lucifer's t-shirt was twisted from rolling around, but he was sort of smiling, with the blanket and Sam wrapped around him.

John shut the door as quietly as possible before he walked past Dean's room. He wouldn't be in there, but John figured he'd chance upon him soon enough.

Which he did, when he hit the landing of the stairs.

Family Guy was still playing on the TV, which meant to John that the boys were looking to relive the glory days the night before. Dean didn't watch it much anymore, since it made him think of Castiel, and chances were the feeling was mutual.

The boys themselves were clues too. Unlike that night Lucifer and Sam left their couches to hold hands, Dean and Castiel were still on their couches. Their blankets were lower on their chests, both of them hand arms over the edge of the couch like at some point in the night they had reached for the other. Even though they were probably cold, they didn't draw their arms back into the blankets. It was just a comfort they couldn't abandon.

John tiptoed past them to push the power button on the TV and Wii before he walked into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.

He'd let them all sleep for a couple more minutes before he woke the Novaks up for church.

* * *

Sometimes Sam went to church with them, but he was pretty exhausted, and Lucifer didn't blame him. He was pretty exhausted himself and he still had a headache, but if Balthazar, Gabriel, and Michael could get up for church after prom, he and Castiel could too. None of them looked sick, though, and Lucifer could tell Zachariah was proud that despite what his younger brothers got up to last night (it might just be Lucifer reading into things, but it didn't look like Balthazar was the only one who got laid last night) that it didn't appear to involve alcohol.

They all were that happy sort of exhausted as they sat around the table eating breakfast… everyone but Castiel, who was the last to shower and was still getting ready. Gabriel wanted to wear his tux, but Uriel gave him a look and he decided on a sweater instead. Though nobody was giving Raphael a look for that cardigan.

He was totally rocking it, but it wasn't something he would have worn six months ago. It looked really good on him.

Balthazar was teasing Michael about his late night – though Balthazar just got in half an hour ago, so he wasn't really in the best position to tease – when there was a knock on the door. It was weird. Everyone sort of looked around the table, like they were doing a head count of who wasn't there and who forgot their key. With Castiel in his bedroom, they were all present. Michael stood; it was probably Adam anyway. The family returned to their breakfast.

The front door opened the same time Lucifer saw Castiel's door open, but the boy didn't step out, and whoever was outside didn't step in. Michael was frozen at the door, hand gripping the knob so tightly his fingers were white. He was twitching, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to run away or jump forward. But all that made sense when his brother licked his lips and asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I… I, you were right, Michael. Might I come in?"

Six chairs scrapped across the floor at the sound of the voice. They were falling over each other to get to the door to see the man. He had one suitcase in his hand, his chin was against his chest with what Lucifer could only assume was embarrassment. Lucifer felt his hands clench at his sides – he could forgive Michael for calling – it was another thing to forgive his dad for not answering.

Lucifer called for months. He called for _two years._ And he never picked up the phone. Not once.

They cleared a path. They let Jimmy Novak back into their lives like he hadn't just abandoned them two years ago with no messages and no contact and no money. Even when their mother died. Even when two of his sons nearly killed themselves.

Lucifer only backed up enough to let him through because he was behind Michael, and he backed up the both of them.

Jimmy walked in, bee-lining right for his armchair – _Castiel's_ armchair, in his father's absence. His brothers were like obedient soldiers. They sat down on the floor in front of his chair like they were kids again. Gabriel even looked at Uriel like he was tempted to crawl into his lap like he was five.

Their father looked over them – Gabriel's long hair, Balthazar's v-neck, Lucifer's fury, Michael's worry, Raphael's cardigan, Uriel's submission, Zachariah's awe – and he was judging them. He was assessing their sins and virtues and adding them up, deciding who went where. Nobody alive could judge Lucifer. He had his demons, but he had fought a bunch of them. He wasn't dead yet, and nobody could judge what it took him to get here.

It took _everything_ , but he was finally happy.

Jimmy looked at Lucifer and asked, "Where is Castiel?"

Lucifer was shaking. How dare he. How dare he say Castiel's name aloud after all he suffered because of his absence. He wasn't there. He hadn't been here to see his brother dwindle down into nothing. He hadn't seen Castiel rising from the ashes. He didn't deserve to say his name.

Michael reached his hand over, cupping over Lucifer's fist like he was going to reassure him and tell him to go get his brother. Instead, he drew his hand back, his concern draining away to wonder. "Lucifer, your hand."

He held them up. Both of them were balled into fists, his forearms shaking with the effort not to punch his father. Both of them. He slowly let his left hand out and tried to close it again. It wouldn't close all the way, but certainly more than it had when he was playing with the stress ball this morning.

Michael was standing up – Gabriel and Balthazar were too – and hugging him. After a beat, Raphael was, too. Uriel and Zachariah stood, pleased smiles on their faces. Their father was the last to rise, but by the time he stood, Lucifer was already turned around, running down the hall. He pushed Castiel's door open with an excited, "Look at this!"

But Castiel's window was open, and his bedroom was empty.

* * *

Castiel was totally, completely calm, and that might be what scared him the most. He was a little cold, to be honest, May was half over and it wasn't really all that bad. He just shoved his hands in his pockets and walked through the woods behind his house.

He hadn't taken this path in a long time, and when his brothers came looking for him, they would go to the Winchesters before they'd go this way. It was a short walk, but the hill made his lungs hurt but they didn't hurt enough.

Castiel had been doing really good this time around. He'd been clean for a month and two weeks. He lived every day making the decision not to go back, and it had been getting easier. He had his TV. He had his brothers and the Winchesters for support.

And he wasn't ready to break that, but fuck could he use a cigarette.

When he broke the line of trees, he looked down the hill to the house that had been built there. He sat down on a rock, stretching out his legs and admiring the architecture of the giant house that he had spent so many nights sneaking into. He remembered the layout of the first floor, but not the second. He could walk around the basement with a blindfold on and not run into anything but maybe the dog. He knew the basement window would be unlocked, but he wondered if Crowley would be inside.

* * *

"What do you want us to do?" Michael asked.

"Just…" Lucifer was panicking. His brothers were looking at him to find Castiel and finding him had never been the easy part. He always just showed up. "Just, can you call the Winchesters, Mickey? I'm sure he went to them. The rest of you pair off and go looking for him. Gabe and Bale go to the club. Raphy, go to my Church. He might hold up there. Uriel and Zach, just drive around town, okay? He doesn't have money but he's probably going to look for something. He used to sell in the park down by the Winchesters'."

With their orders, they left. Michael called on his way to the Church with Raphael, and Lucifer slammed his fist into Castiel's door as soon as they were gone. He couldn't do this again. He couldn't fucking lose his brother again.

"Lucifer, would you like me to do something?"

"I would have liked for you not to fucking leave us in the first place, dad," Lucifer cried, turning on him with bloody knuckles from the door. "Or I would have liked if you'd have answered when I called. I would have liked for you not to show up and scare him off, okay? I would have liked if you just died."

Lucifer flinched at the end of it, feeling like a stubborn child but if he were dead, they could have dealt with it. Poorly, probably, considering how they handled their mothers death, but they were getting _over_ that. He wiped away the tears from his cheeks with fury. He hated his dad. He hated himself. And he hated Castiel for leaving without him.

Lucifer knew he should say he was sorry, but he couldn't. Not yet.

"Just, wait here. I'm gonna lock his window so he has to come in the front door if he comes back, okay? Just fucking _call_ me if he comes back here. And don't try to talk to him, okay? Don't say his fucking name out loud ever again."

Lucifer walked into Castiel's room and shut and locked the window. For good measure, he locked every window on the first floor. He wasn't getting back in this house without him knowing. When he walked through the living room to get to the front door, he noticed his dad was sitting back in his chair like he was the king and that was his throne. But this time, he had the good sense to have his face buried in his hands.

The blond boy shut the door behind him, digging out his phone. He checked the contacts and hit call, taking off down the street. He was already halfway down the block when the boy answered with, "Hello?"

"Crowley, it's Lucifer."

"I can read my caller ID, thank you. I even have a wonderful picture of you in horns, just in case I forget how to read."

"Castiel's gone. Is he with you?"

"Gone?" Crowley suddenly sounded broken. Lucifer swore the mere mention of his brother's name sent the British teen into pieces. "No, he's not. What do you mean, he's gone?"

"I mean my fucking dad came home, and Castiel snuck out of his bedroom window. How many definitions of the word _gone_ do you know?"

"Go fuck yourself," Crowley spit, but then changed tactics. "Your dad?"

Lucifer turned the corner and ran up the sidewalk to Crowley's Mansion. "I'm at your house. Let me in."

The line went dead. Lucifer swore for a second, pounding at the door before the British teen opened the door, letting himself get shoved to the side as Lucifer fought his way in. He checked the first floor, then opened the door to the basement.

"You don't believe me," Crowley stated. It wasn't a question.

"You fucked my brother for money and fed him drugs. Sorry that my trust in you isn't at full capacity anymore."

"I loved your brother."

Castiel wasn't in Crowley's basement, either. Crowley followed him up the stairs and up to the second floor, only pausing Lucifer's search to ask him to be quiet when he checked his mom's room. The woman was sweating and shaking, and Lucifer didn't have to ask what was wrong. The state of the woman and the candle burning at her bedside was enough. He just backed out slowly, quietly, and finished checking the rest of his house. Crowley even showed him to the door.

"Aziraphale might be able track him. I don't really know how his breed smells things, but you can take him if you want. I've got water in the fridge, if you need that too."

"I know you loved him, Crowley. You just loved each other the wrong way."

Crowley shrugged, "If he shows up, I'll call you. There's nothing in this house harder than aspirin anymore, anyway. But I'll keep him here and I'll call you."

"Thanks, Crowley. It might have taken a long time, but I think that you're starting to learn the right way."

Crowley laughed, and Lucifer took off again, calling Sam, even though Michael had likely already done that.

* * *

"If you don't get down here in ten seconds, I'm leaving without you," Sam yelled up to Dean, but as soon as he did, the older boy was barreling down the stairs – this time with shoes on – and the two of them were out the door and raced to the Impala.

When Sam felt his phone vibrate in his hand, he thought it was Michael again. But it wasn't, "Tell me you've found him."

"Not yet," Sam could tell Lucifer was crying on the other end of the phone. His breathing was erratic, like he'd been running, but he was slowing down to a walk. "He hasn't been to Crowley's. I haven't checked in with everyone else, but nobody's called me. He couldn't have more than five minutes on us, Sam. I don't know how we lost him."

"Where are you?" Dean yelled. Sam fumbled with his phone and put it on speaker.

"I'm back at my house," Lucifer's voice rang out. "I ran around the block but he isn't around here. I don't have a freaking clue where he'd be. I sent my brothers everywhere."

"Well, calm down," Sam tried to sound calm himself, but it wasn't working all that well. "There's no way that Gabe and Bale have gotten to the club yet. Michael's probably getting to the Church right now. They're gonna check in soon."

"He doesn't have any money. We've been sure not to give him any and keep track of what we have so we know if it goes missing. He can't buy any drugs, so he's going to have to find them. Crowley's our best bet. He said he'd call, but –"

"How can you trust him?" Dean demanded. "You should have stayed there with him just in case."

"His mom's going through withdrawal right now and Crowley hasn't used for almost a month. They don't have any drugs anymore."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, before Dean looked at the road and Sam looked at his phone. "His mom's a…"

"Yeah, I didn't know either. That dude's whole freaking life is a sob story. I almost would feel bad for him if I knew where Castiel was. I searched the whole mansion for him and he wasn't there. That's how I can trust him."

Dean pulled up to the curb, and Lucifer jumped in the back. He pretty much slammed his head into his hands, his back shaking with angry sobs and choked words that sounded a bit like a prayer. Dean shot another look at Sam before he turned back to Lucifer. "Where do you want to look?"

"Just drive around until I hear back from my brothers," Lucifer said. Dean waited to pull off from the curb until Sam went to the back to try and console Lucifer.

* * *

It had been four hours. Gabriel and Balthazar had swept the club and the back rooms, but now they were standing guard at the front. Michael and Raphael had done the same with the Church, and Uriel and Zachariah were taking turns hiding in the bushes at the park Castiel used to sell at and driving around to his favorite restaurants.

Dean, Sam, and Lucifer had even checked out a few of the places the Winchesters would go – Bobby's garage, the Roadhouse – but nobody had seen or heard from Castiel at all that day. Sam had expected Dean to be beside himself, but Lucifer was in such a state of loss that Dean was forced to stay strong.

"I can't believe he's gone this long without a TV," Lucifer was lying in the back, his head on Sam's lap, his arm thrown over his face. "Maybe we should go to the mall."

"Castiel hates people," Sam said. "At least, when he isn't dancing with them."

"What would you do?" Dean asked. "What would you like to do? Your deadbeat dad just showed up at home after two years. What do you feel like doing to escape that?"

"I feel like finding my brother," Lucifer lamented. "What did you do when John came back all those times?"

"I got drunk," Dean said, frowning at the road. He changed his mind and turned right instead. A car beeped at him, but fuck it. "Cas doesn't have any money, right? He can't buy drugs, but he can get alcohol for free."

"Gabe and Bale checked the club," Sam reminded him. "They've been waiting out front for four hours. He hasn't showed up there."

"You have no idea how strong the pull is sometimes," Dean said. "God, he would get so drunk the nights he was clean but he had to pay off Crowley. I know when he was in London after we broke up, I would have broken into a liquor store if I didn't have a free one right in front of me."

The parking lot of the club wasn't really a parking lot. Kids didn't drive that much, since the allure of the place was drinking. Or it had been. They weren't buying more alcohol – only selling until they ran out – then this club was turning into a dry place. A hangout for sober kids. But they weren't out yet. Dean parked the Impala and ran out of the car before Lucifer had even sat up. He was past Gabriel and Balthazar in a second, then he was weaving between kids who weren't so much dancing as hanging out. It was still early on a Sunday, after all. The first door in the back was Crowley's office. Dean turned the handle and pushed inside.

Castiel had his feet up on the desk, leaning back in his chair but not tipping. He had a liter of whiskey in his hand, resting at his hip, a cigarette between his pointer and his middle finger. There was a brick on the desk next to his feet, and the glass wasn't in the window behind him anymore. Instead, it was on the floor. When Dean walked in, Castiel turned to look at him, blowing out a puff of smoke.

"So you've come to me on the day of my daughter's wedding," Castiel slurred in a poor Italian accent, which would be amusing since Castiel actually knew some Italian if Dean wasn't worried if the boy had hurt himself climbing in over the shards of glass.

Dean stepped further inside, looking at the TV in the corner before he walked up to the desk. It was definitely a cigarette in Castiel's hand, and when Dean checked the pack there were only six left.

"You're watching the Sopranos, not the Godfather. You smoke the pot that was in here?" Dean asked.

Castiel rolled his eyes, like he was entirely done with Dean's shit, and took a swig from the bottle. That was getting down there too. Castiel shook his head, "No pot. It was a new pack. Opened it myself."

"You smoked fourteen cigarettes in four hours?"

"I didn't do drugs. I didn't do anything illegal," Castiel grinned up at Dean, drunk and toothy. Dean held his hand out and Castiel passed him the whiskey without question. He put the cigarette back in his mouth, taking the last little puff of it before putting it nose down in the ashtray. When he had nothing to do with his hands, he rested them on his stomach before he sat up, letting his feet fall clumsily from the table and stand up on shaky legs. "Well I broke in, I guess. And I'm not old enough to buy this stuff."

"Cas, buddy, you hurt?"

"No, Dean," Castiel offered his hands. Dean put the top on the whiskey and put it on a shelf behind him. He took Castiel's hands and turned them over, checking his wrists and forearms for scrapes. He didn't look like he had any that were actually serious. When Dean looked back up, Castiel tugged Dean's hands to his own chest, reaching out so his hands could grip the taller boy's shoulders. His hands moved up Dean's neck to cup his face. "You're the most attractive person I've ever seen. I don't know whether handsome or beautiful is more appropriate. There has to be a word that means more than both."

Dean huffed, turning Castiel so he could get an arm around his waist. The drunken boy let his hands fall to his sides. It was probably a good thing because Dean felt like his face was on fire.

Dean started pulling Castiel toward the door the same time Sam and Lucifer ended up getting there. Lucifer took one look at his drunken chimney of a little brother and sighed the hugest sigh Dean had ever heard. Between Gabriel, Balthazar, and Lucifer, they let all their brothers know that he'd been found.

Despite Sam trying to help lead Castiel to the car, the drunken boy would only lean against Dean. When they finally got him in the back seat of the Impala, Dean warned him. "If you puke inside my Baby, Castiel, I swear to God I will never forgive you."

"Dean," Castiel said, gripping at Dean's shirt, keeping him half inside the car. "Dean, thank you. And I'm sorry. I would have liked spending every day waking up next to you. I'm sorry I ruined that." Castiel's fingers squeezed tighter, and he was looking into Dean's eyes with a look of seriousness and awe that only really drunk people can manage. "You were my new dream."

Dean was burning, but Sam was giggling behind him. Dean managed to pry Castiel away and shut the door. Lucifer climbed in the back next to him, and just as Dean was about to open the door to drive Castiel home, Sam called over the hood of the Impala. "You were supposed to say, 'And you were mine.'"

Dean just rolled his eyes. The brothers got into the car and drove the Novaks home.

* * *

There wasn't a whole lot anyone could do about any of it. Jimmy _said_ he was staying until Gabriel graduated and it was final. Lucifer had called Sam after a very long talk between the father and his sons and told him everything. How their dad said he was sorry and how he felt guilty when their mom got sick. He thought it was his fault. Or, at least, it was his fault that she was committed because despite how much Jimmy believed, his wife whispering about hearing angels talk to each other was just crazy talk, right?

He had her committed, and his sons grew up without a mother.

Things were okay for a while – Anna would come home and they'd act like a good family – but then when Anna got worse and Lucifer started in on himself, Jimmy thought it was him. He was the one who was ruining his family. So he waited until Anna was doing okay and he left. He said he left them to save them. He'd been bouncing around the country to different churches, doing what he could to help out and moving on. He was trying to do good things to make up for messing up his family.

Even though it was a Monday night, the Winchesters had a fire so the Novaks could vent. Lucifer and Sam were both around the fire; their features were alight with the flames, sipping caffeine free soda. Dean was a little further away, halfway between the fire and the hammock five feet away, a beer rested in the grass next to him. The hammock was swinging back and forth, and Castiel had another bottle of hard liquor from the club resting at his hip. At least this time, he'd agreed to leave the cigarettes.

They weren't supposed to drink using their meds, but Dean figured it was an understandable situation and as long as people were watching him… He didn't like it, but what was he going to do?

"He said he figured he gave us the best chance. What does that even mean? It wasn't fair to Zachariah to have to take care of us. Or… or the twins were going off to college, you know? They had to just stop their lives to take care of us." Lucifer leaned against Sam. "Michael and I almost destroyed each other without him to guide us."

"Almost, but you didn't. And look how awesomely you get along together now," Sam said, wrapping his arm around Lucifer. "Look at all you accomplished with his absence. You don't have to go back to how things were before just because he's back."

Behind him, Dean heard Castiel snort and take a swig from the bottle.

"And he thinks that because he's been taking care of orphans and helping stranded puppies and balancing the books of a hundred churches that I'm just going forgive him, then he has another thing coming," Lucifer flopped himself down in the grass, looking up at the sky. "I'll forgive him if he can get me a birthday present that I actually want for once. If he can look at a thing and know me well enough to say, 'Luci'd like this' and buy it and I actually do like it. If he makes even a little bit of an effort to know me as individual… I'll forgive him then."

"You think he's gonna be able to learn about you in two months?" Castiel slurred. "I've don't even have a month left. In two days he's learned that I get drunk and run away." The boy turned his head toward his brother and the fire, but Dean could feel his eyes looking at him. "Maybe he'll get me some shoes. Actually, I could probably use new shoes. These are a few years old."

"You're easy to shop for," Lucifer said, tipping his head up enough to look over his body at his brother. "Just get you something illegal and you'll like it."

Castiel snorted again. "That's not true. There are plenty of illegal things I don't like. There are even legal things I do."

"Like what?"

Dean turned to look to look back at the boy on the hammock. He was drunk, Dean could tell by the way he talked and the way his fingers had a death grip on the ropes like he was afraid of falling off it. The fire wasn't big enough to light him up, but Dean could just make out his eyes. He could tell that Castiel winked, looking straight at Dean. "I can think of something."

"That's enough for you," Dean said, standing up and reaching his hand down to take the bottle. For a second time in two days, Castiel gave it up without a fight.

"We gotta get going, anyway," Lucifer said, standing up. "We have a ten o'clock curfew. Can you imagine that? This was my city. I ran these streets."

Castiel rolled, fingers gripping the rope of the hammock to keep himself from falling. His feet were searching for the ground but he wasn't close. Dean sighed and helped him sit up, then helped pull him to standing. Castiel smiled, but started over-balancing, nearly toppling over. Sam and Lucifer laughed, but Dean just helped him to right himself.

"You might have run these streets, but I actually ran on them for you. Ten o'clock some nights, I'd still be in the park. Nobody tells a drug dealer when they have to be home on a school night."

"Yeah, but what about a junkie?" Lucifer grinned, throwing his arm over his brother's shoulders. It might have been a loaded statement, but Castiel just grinned back.

"Underage, drunk junkies should probably have a curfew," he said, letting his brother drag him out front. "Good night, Winchesters."

Sam and Dean couldn't go inside until the flames had burned down enough not to burn anything down in the night while they slept. Chances are, it was already low enough to be safe but if John could see it glowing from the kitchen window, the boys would be in trouble in the morning. Dean moved closer, holding his hands toward the embers.

Even as they left, the brothers could hear the Novaks halfway down the block.

"They'll be okay," Sam said, a frown still worrying his face. "If Lucifer and Michael can get along, they can get along with their dad. Cas can't keep up the drinking or the pills won't work. So he'll either get over it or go off the pills and spiral out of control and start taking drugs again or get re-admitted for hallucinations."

Dean finished off his beer.

"Maybe we should try to get Cas to ease up on the drinking."

* * *

It was almost comical, watching the way Lucifer and Castiel fought their forgiving nature. It wasn't like Jimmy was a stellar parent or anything – the first time Sam and Dean had come over, they were given curious glances that turned into mistrusting glares when Lucifer wrapped an arm around Sam on the couch – but he wasn't terrible. He never said anything to either of his sons about it. And despite his early reservations, he was actually quite civil after the four nights in a row serving dinner to the Winchesters.

Once he accepted the Winchesters, forgiveness would have come easily. For the most part, it did. Sam sort of loved the way Lucifer interacted with his dad, because it was almost like how he interacted with John. There was some more formality with Jimmy – a little bit of a childlike eagerness to please – but it was parental. Sure, Lucifer would bitch up a storm about how much he hated him when they were alone, but when they were together, they clicked.

Jimmy clicked with almost all of his sons. Gabriel was five again, just barely contained energy and love. If he had been a little smaller, Sam was sure he would have tried to crawl into Jimmy's lap. Balthazar was a twelve or thirteen, always embarrassed and always wanting privacy, but he always ate dinner at home and even asked for help on homework that Sam knew he didn't need help with. Michael cooked with Jimmy, Raphael and Uriel were already filling out college applications with Jimmy, and Zachariah was talking about accepting a promotion at work that would force him to move three states away. He had been stuck in lower management for two years. He was excited to move on with his life.

But Castiel was barely hanging on.

Lucifer had to set an alarm on Castiel's phone to remind him to take his pills because some nights he was too drunk to remember. The nights he didn't drink, he was through most of a pint of ice cream on the couch, zoning to Nick-at-Night reruns. He barely talked anymore. A couple of nights he'd sit with Lucifer, Sam, and Dean and watch TV, other nights, he'd go right to his room and fall asleep.

Sam knew Dean was worried about him. Hell, they all were. Even Jimmy.

Then, one week after Jimmy got back, Dean started working more and not coming over. That first Sunday, Castiel shut himself in the room. The Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday after that, he came home right before his ten pm curfew, sober but exhausted. He just took his pills and brushed his teeth in silence before collapsing on the bed.

Sam and Lucifer tried to look out for him, but Crowley insisted that he wasn't going over there. They had no idea what he was doing and when they asked Castiel, he just gave them a long-suffering look and shut himself in his room.

It was Wednesday, ten days after Jimmy showed up, that Sam went home before dinner time and found out where Castiel had been going.

Sam walked in his front door, yelling about wanting to order a pizza and shrugging off his jacket when he saw the pair of them on the couches. Dean was on the love seat, leaning toward the TV point and yelling mostly incoherent directions; Castiel was on the couch, leaning away from the TV with a controller in his hand. When Sam looked at the TV, he could see that they were playing some racing game, but racing was putting it generously. It looked like Castiel was playing ping-pong with a car between two guardrails.

Dean had on his work shirt, but he wasn't covered in grease. He'd probably come home early to hang out with Castiel. He probably had been the past few days, by the look of it. When Castiel finally passed the finish line, he collapsed against the back of the couch, letting out a breath with a grin and his eyes settled on Dean. The older boy was curled in on himself with laughter, and after a second, he took the paddle that Castiel had offered him, pausing when their hands touched to give the boy a smile.

Sam rolled his eyes and joined his brother on the couch.

When John got home, the four of them had eaten two medium pizzas. John was even worse at the game than Castiel, which delighted the ex-junkie beyond words. When Castiel's phone went off at 9:45, telling him to go home to take his pills, Dean offered to give him a ride.

John and Sam watched from the window as the pair of them drove off down the street, and when John grasped Sam's shoulder and tugged him into a side-armed hug, Sam knew exactly why there was a smile on the man's face.

* * *

Jimmy missed Anna. He always had, even when he was bouncing off across the country. He missed her when he settled in Pontiac after a year of nomadic lifestyle. He missed her when Amelia – a woman in the choir – introduced herself to him. He missed his sons, too. He thought about them constantly.

But he was sure that he was doing the right thing. He had messed up so tremendously when they were children, they had to be better off without him. So Jimmy prayed and prayed for forgiveness and redemption, for their safety, and worked long hours cleaning the church as penance for abandoning them.

He stayed away from the children when they came to youth groups. He turned his head when the pastor gave a special sermon to the children. He made sure not to wander around when he was at Sunday school, afraid he might find a child on his way to the bathroom and somehow infect him with whatever he did to mess up his wife and kids.

Eight months ago, the pastor had asked him to lead a youth outreach program after school. It had been a while since Lucifer had called him begging him to return. He thought his boys were moving on. So he agreed. It was the kids' first week of school, he had a lesson all planned about peer pressure, but he when he left the church he had a new voicemail from Lucifer.

_"Father, please forgive me for I have sinned. I am a filthy, rotten creature. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything, father. Please let me into your grace again. I just need to feel… I need to feel, again. Look, father. Mom is dead. Doesn't that change anything? My brothers are… Michael hit me, father. And Castiel… I think Castiel is like me, father. And I don't know how to save him from it."_

He had eight kids signed up for the program. The youngest boy could only be pacified with candy, a little girl had a speech impediment that made it difficult for the others to understand her, a dark haired boy who was silent, a set of brothers who were always fighting, a black kid who punched anyone who looked even looked at his little sister, and the oldest was fourteen and he followed Jimmy around, emulating him and trying to help keep some sort of order.

Jimmy didn't even try to teach them that first day. Amelia found him two rooms down hiding behind a desk, crying.

Kids take to religion with a blind faith that was incredibly beautiful. Jimmy remembered it with his sons, and his outreach kids were still young enough that stories of Noah and the Ark still amazed them. They acted out plays, scenes from the Bible, and they enjoyed learning. Sometimes, the older kids would bring homework to him and beg for help – some of their homes were so broken they didn't have clean clothes or shoes – the youngest kid who liked candy was so dangerously underweight, Jimmy found himself stopping for donuts for him more often than he should.

From that first call Lucifer made in September to the second one he made January, Jimmy spent all of his time and energy and money on the eight kids in his after school program. The youngest gained enough weight so the social workers weren't threatening to take him from his poor but loving grandmother and giving him back to his drug addicted mother. He worked with the girl on her speech therapy by giving her a set of tongue twister books and psalms. Even if some of the others had a hard time understanding her, the eight of them in the program could. The dark-haired boy started talking, just a bit but it was a start.

Jimmy had the most awkward conversation of his life with the black girl after her mother finally gave in and let her use a relaxer. Her brother had already beaten up three potential suitors, and Jimmy had to sit them both down and try his very best to explain the birds and the bees to a couple of sixth graders in a way he didn't to his sons. He had told his own boys not to, but he didn't have any daughters. He had to try and teach the brother that it was okay to let his sister _talk_ to other boys, but he had to try and convince the girl about how she should respect herself and wait until she was sure and ready to give something so precious up.

You have no idea how hard it is to get through to girls. It's like there's a chemical in their brain that makes them think they aren't good enough for anything other than being submissive to a man. That might have been a generalization, but it seemed to apply to the girl whose mother had her first kid when she was just fourteen herself. And Jimmy was damned if his girl ever thought herself anything less than equal to her brother, equal to all men.

It was hard for Jimmy to realize that the eldest boy followed him around because he – like most of the other kids in the outreach program – didn't know his father or have any other father figure other than the men his mother brought home. By January, he was getting As and Bs in all his class.

All of them had made Jimmy something for Christmas a few weeks before, even the brothers, who still fought constantly. When Lucifer called the second time about Castiel and how he was deteriorating just like his mother had, Jimmy made it his mission to make the brothers stop fighting. And between January and May – when Michael finally came to him to set him straight – Jimmy had tried everything.

He paired them together against the rest of the kids. He separated them to opposite sides of the room. He tried having them talk out their problems and write out their problems. He even thought he should finally just lock the pair of them in a room and let them fight it out. In the animal kingdom, a pecking order would be established. The stronger men beat the weaker into submission. Maybe they just needed to duke it out. But Jimmy knew violence wasn't the answer. He had to just figure out a way for them to get along.

He was no closer to solving the brothers' hate in April than he was in June. Then, the day before Michael had called Jimmy, one of the brothers was in an accident. Their dad was drunk, driving to pick up the other brother from a friend's house. The dad had died at the scene; the son was rushed to intensive care. They hadn't known if he would survive when Michael had called. He had been stabilized when Michael came to visit.

He was released from the hospital the day before Jimmy went home to his own kids. The brothers had hugged and cried; Jimmy had never seen them get along until they realized they could one day lose each other.

It blew him away when he saw his sons rush out the door to find Castiel. He couldn't believe Gabriel was a man, almost an adult with a beautiful girl to laugh at his jokes. He couldn't believe Balthazar was top of his class, inventing things for pranks that required an aptitude of math far above his age. He couldn't believe Raphael could look so stunning when he smiled, ducked his head like he was shy, and pushed a stray lock of straight hair behind his ear. He couldn't believe Uriel had turned down a football scholarship to get a shitty job to support his brothers. He couldn't believe Zachariah was as willing to please him as he had been when he was five.

But more than anything, he couldn't stop the tears from welling in his eyes when he saw Michael and Lucifer joking over dinner. They were so easy together – so much affection and love Jimmy could cut it with a knife – and he couldn't believe what they had managed to survive and overcome in his absence.

It didn't take him long to know that he had messed up when he left his boys alone, but they had thrived despite him. He was intruding on their family. His boys were good, just like his kids in Pontiac would be with Amelia until he got back to them in a couple of years.

Castiel had come home from Dean's early on Thursday, while Jimmy was sitting in his chair thinking of all of this. He had Gabriel's iPod playing over a small stereo, his fingers folded together as if in prayer. Castiel didn't even bother looking at Jimmy; he just walked to the kitchen, ignoring the man who would be the model of what he looked like in twenty years.

Castiel had always been Anna's favorite son. He and Jimmy could be twins if they were the same age, but despite their physical appearances, they had nothing in common.

They never really had.

Jimmy could hear the popcorn popping over his music, but he just shut his eyes, focusing on the words, and wondering how he could possibly prove himself to his son. What could he possibly do to earn his trust or love? What did Castiel like? What did he value? What did he stand for?

Jimmy knew nothing about him.

He was surprised when Castiel poured the popcorn into a bowl and set the bowl on Jimmy's lap. The couch wasn't so far away that Castiel couldn't reach the bowl, and he leaned forward to take some, looking up at his dad with open, sober eyes like he was expecting something. An apology, an explanation, something.

In the background, Stevie Nicks was singing, _"Mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child in my heart rise above?"_

"So is that older Winchester boy with you?"

"No," Castiel leaned back, shrugging a bit. "We used to be but he broke up with me."

"Why is that?"

"I was having sex with another guy for money."

Jimmy frowned at Castiel and the small smile of pride on his face, "Do you think that you can just say these things and it'll change anything between us? Do you really think I care who you sleep with and why you do it? All I want for you is to be happy…"

"Drugs made me happy."

"… and healthy."

" _But time makes you bolder, children get older. And I'm getting older, too."_

Castiel frowned, but he reached forward, grabbing another fistful of popcorn. He sat back, probably trying to think of something he could say to his dad that would make him angry or push him away, but if there was one thing that Jimmy learned from his time away, it was that people pushed others away when they really wanted them to hold them close.

"I don't care, Castiel. I don't care what you've done in the past and what you had to do to survive when I wasn't here. I don't care if you sold your body and slept with men for money. I don't care as long as you don't care. And you don't care, do you? You did it to help those other boys, and so how could you possibly regret your decision? I'm proud of what you've done without me. I'm proud of the man you're becoming. You're my son, and I love you."

Castiel's bottom lip was between his teeth, and when he finally released it, there was a small swell of blood there from the skin he managed to rip off. "Do you mean that? Because I'm not letting you back in if you're going to leave me again. I've lost everyone, father. I can't lose you again."

"I swear to you. You won't lose me again until the day our Father takes me from this earth. Until then, I will always come when you call, even if I don't live in Lawrence anymore. I will always try to make it up to you. For as long as I live, son, I will love you."

" _The landslide will bring it down."_

Castiel put his hand over Jimmy's on the arm rest. He didn't say anything, but the feeling of his son's warm hand over his was enough for right now.

* * *

It was dark out now, but the days were getting longer. Even though Bobby's shop wasn't that far, Dean took any opportunity to drive the Impala. As soon as he climbed out of her, he heard it. It was the rough strumming of a guitar chord. For a minute, he thought Lucifer was able to push the strings down. He didn't seem that far off, to be honest, but the person pushing down the strings was someone with less natural talent but more coordination over his fingers at the moment.

"Sammy?" Dean called, walking inside the house and looking around the living room before entering the kitchen. If anything, it was quieter in here than it had been outside. When Dean got to the sink to wash his hands, he could hear the sound of someone humming along to the guitar. Dean scrubbed his hands to remove the grease, trying to place the song, but he couldn't.

After turning off the faucet, Dean could hear that the guitar had stopped and instead, the song was being played through a small set of speakers. Likely a phone. For a moment, Dean assumed it was Sam and he grabbed his notebook that Doctor Fuller had him keep for Castiel. He thought he'd go outside and write with his brother. There'd be bright enough if he turned the porch light on and sat under it.

There was a room in the kitchen that led to the garage, and a screen door that led to the back porch. The brass knob seemed heavier in Dean's hand when he reached out to it, turning it and opening it as silently as he could. The guitar picked back up, along with the recording over the phone, and Dean heard a voice singing just under his breath.

And Dean felt his heartbeat rise. It wasn't Lucifer, and Sam didn't answer to the call. They probably weren't here. It must be someone else who spent his free time at the Winchesters' home. When he got to the screen door, he saw Castiel, and he paused to watch the younger boy fumble with the instrument.

Dean wasn't really sure how long he stood at the door, watching Castiel play the guitar Sam had gotten Lucifer for his birthday. The boy had the MacBook open in front of him, like he was looking up how to play the guitar chords to the song, but he was going back and forth between that and his phone like he was trying to figure it out himself. Dean must have heard the chorus three or four times, and each time he felt like his heart was catching in his chest, his breath stuck in his throat. Finally, the draw of the younger boy was too much, and Dean pushed the screen door open and stepped out onto his back porch.

Castiel stopped strumming; he was holding the guitar on his lap like it was natural for him to do so. There was something indescribably beautiful about the boy in the moonlight with an instrument – something that Sam must have seen in Lucifer – and Castiel brought his hands to his mouth and blew in them like he was cold.

Why was he playing outside anyway? He was always more than welcome in the Winchesters' home. It was getting closer to June though, and it wasn't really cold out, especially after the long winter they had. The stars were burning above them, and Castiel's eyes were bright and sober. Dean leaned against the outside wall of his house, crossing his arms, trying to look as cool as he could.

"So what are you playing?"

Castiel ducked his head and even in the darkness, Dean could see the flush grow over his cheekbones. He could see the computer's background appear, like Castiel had minimized the page to keep him from seeing it. Castiel kept his eyes on the screen, biting at a piece of recently healed skin on his lip.

"How long were you angry at your dad when he came back this past time? How mad were you that he left you in the first place?"

Dean shrugged. A pair of kids walked by out front; Dean could hear them before he could see them, and they wouldn't look this far back in the yard to spot the two of them. Not that Dean cared about being seen, but Castiel still seemed timid about the whole thing.

"That's a hard one, Cas," Dean turned his attention back to the shorter boy. His face was alight from the glow of the computer screen; his emotions had nowhere to hide. Dean saw the twitch of his lip, turning downward into a deeper frown. "Sometimes I still get angry, but it's hard to be mad at the guy who begat you."

Castiel smiled at that, eyes lifting from the screen to find Dean's face in the shadows. "Begat?"

"Thought you might like that," Dean said, sliding down the side of the house to sit down, cupping the notebook to his chest. There was a foot and a computer between them, but the position changed the angle of the monitor's glow on Castiel's face. He looked different from a moment ago, lighter somehow, happier. But it had to be the different angle. "So what are you working on?"

"Nothing really," Castiel licked his lips, offering a nervous, half shrug. "I heard it on the radio the other day and it made me think of…" The boy ducked his head again, bringing the page back up like he was reading through it, trying to decide if he should admit to anything. In the end, he took a different path. "Fuller says I shouldn't date again until I'm happy with who I am as an individual."

"So I've heard," Dean said, letting his legs spread out in front of him. They were only inches from Castiel, and the boy looked at Dean's knee before he looked back to the screen. "That's a good plan, I think. That movie you made with your brothers when you were a kid, doesn't it say, _'You'll never share real love until you love yourself?'_ "

When Castiel smiled, Dean knew he had been caught. "It does, but that is an obscure line from a point closer to the end. You couldn't possibly remember that word-for-word and not remember the musical it came from."

"It was Lucifer's character," Dean said with a grin.

"Dean…"

"Yeah, you got me. Sammy made me watch it like fifteen times while you two were in the hospital."

"Dean, I…"

"It really isn't a bad movie, except for the singing and the drugs and the dying. I can't believe your mom let Gabe play the character who dies of AIDS."

"Dean, I don't think I can love myself." Castiel was still looking down at the computer, but it did nothing to hide him. In the glow, Dean could see Castiel's eyes were dancing with tears. He looked up, tilting his head back as if he could keep them from falling if only he could fight gravity.

"Sure you can, Cas. Everyone else loves you," Dean tried, but Castiel just snorted. The older boy took a deep breath and held out the notebook. "I still love you, Cas. I've always loved you, and I always will."

Castiel looked up, eyebrows slanted in an open, honest gesture of vulnerability, confusion and hope. His eyes danced from Dean's face to the notebook and back again, trying to gage whether or not the confession was serious. Slowly, he extended his hand, taking it from Dean's hands and pulling it to his own lap. His arms reached around the guitar to trace his fingers over the cover.

"I was seeing Fuller too. He asked me to write you letters instead of rushing into anything, so I wrote. I never really stopped; I mean, it's almost full. I've been meaning to give it to you to read, but I just… there was never a good time. It's still not a good time, Cas. You need to feel good about you, but… you deserve to feel good, man. You're a good person."

"I'm a drug addict," Castiel said, the tears finally breaching the wall and spilling down his face. "I cheated on you, Dean."

"I forgive you, Cas. You were doing it for us. Just this one time, I'll forgive you."

"It wasn't one time. It was ten times," Castiel tried to curl up on himself, but Dean leaned forward, bracing one hand on Castiel's knee, the other on his shoulder, keeping him from folding inward around the guitar. Castiel's shoulders shook in silent, angry sobs, but Dean just kept holding him there, keeping him open and vulnerable. "I don't deserve your forgiveness."

"Just read it," Dean's thumb was smoothing over the inseam at Castiel's knee, pushing up his thigh just slightly. "No pressure, okay? We're not getting back together until we're both okay. And even if we're both okay and neither of us wants that, we won't get back together. We'll be friends, Cas, okay? We are friends now. Maybe if you read that, you'll see how much someone else cares about you. Maybe then you'll think you deserve to be happy and loved. You deserve to be saved."

Castiel lowered his head and whispered, "So do you, Dean."

They were quiet for a long time, long enough to where the ambient noises drifted to the foreground. It was warm enough for crickets in the tall grass near the lawn mower to sing into the night. Every so often a car would go by to slice through the screaming silence of the dark. Castiel rubbed his fingers over the notebook, tracing the letters Dean had written on the front and patterns Dean couldn't even begin to see. And Dean let his fingers rub against Castiel's back, his thumb against his thigh, trying to calm them both down and anchor them to the sensation so they didn't get lost.

It was a long time later, somewhere between a couple of minutes to an hour – Dean wasn't sure – when Castiel looked back up at him. The tears were wiped away, but in the glow, Dean could see his eyes were still red. He placed the book down on the porch in front of his crossed legs and sat himself up. Dean let go of Castiel, but he stayed close. As soon as contact was broken, Dean felt a need to reach out and grab onto him again, but Castiel shifted, looked down at the MacBook screen, before adjusting his fingers in some impossible looking chord.

When he turned to face Dean, the pink was tinting his face again. "Since you're being honest, I heard this song on the radio and thought of you. I thought that if… if in a couple of months we got a little bit better and I got better at playing, I could play this for you and it might mean something more than I can say."

"You don't have to show me now, then. What if in a couple of months you're okay but you don't want to show me? Then you'll regret it."

"I'll regret nothing, Dean. Because I still love you, too."

It was rough, to be honest. Castiel later admitted that he'd only been trying to learn the song for an hour before Dean showed up. His fingers shifted clumsily from one chord to another, and he couldn't always sing the words because he was concentrating on the notes so much. Castiel spent most of the song embarrassed, flushed and nearly sweating with it, and when he finished, Dean saw that his hands were shaking.

And a lot of the song was lost on Dean – the display might have been one of the most romantic and awkwardly adorable gestures anyone ever gave him – but the chorus wasn't lost. Days later, months later, hell, years later, when Dean wanted to remember this moment – or wanted Castiel to remember this moment – or when either of them needed a reminder that everything would be okay because they were _loved_ , Dean would ask Castiel to play that song.

" _I belong with you; you belong with me. You're my sweetheart."_

Castiel rubbed his shaking hands together, trying to knead out the nervous tremors. His eyes looked everywhere but Dean for as long as he could possibly manage, and when he finally dared to look, his head was ducked between his shoulders, blush still present but fading, tongue daring out to wet his lips in a nervous tick that drove Dean crazy.

Dean let out a breath, lifting a hand and hesitating before he put it back on Castiel's knee. The other hand found the back of Castiel's neck instead of his shoulder, and he pulled the younger boy just a fraction closer before he stopped, closed his eyes, and let out another puff of breath.

"I know you're not ready yet, Cas. I'm not ready either. But I'm going to wait for you, okay? I'll have you as long as you'll have me, and I'm not giving up unless you tell me that it's over. And even then, I probably won't. I will wait forever for you."

"You don't have to do that," Castiel whispered, resting his forehead against Dean's and reaching around the guitar to put his hands on Dean. He couldn't seem to be able to make up his mind – they touched his chest, his biceps, his shoulders, his hair – like they both knew that this moment would end and they would go back to being friends.

Maybe someday, they would be more. But right now, in this moment, hope was all they had to cling to.

"Can I kiss you, Cas? Please, I've been thinking about it since that day you were on my porch covered in rain. I wish I could just go back and kiss you then. None of this would have happened. I've been thinking about it and I just… just one more kiss and tomorrow we're platonic."

"Not forever," Castiel whined.

Dean smiled and agreed, "Until we're ready."

Castiel didn't give an answer. At least not vocally. Dean felt the press of Castiel's chapped lips against his – wet from the boy's constant worrying – and the elder boy couldn't help but press into it. Castiel's fingers were clinging to Dean's shoulders – Dean's clung to Castiel's hair – and the kiss only lasted a moment, a few presses of lips and tongue before they were resting their foreheads against each other once again. It seemed far too innocent of a kiss to leave Dean panting like this, to have his heart swell up like a balloon, but when he backed away and opened his eyes, he saw that Castiel had reacted the same way.

It seemed to take forever for the pair of them to peel away from each other until they were no longer touching. For good measure, Dean scooted himself back against the wall and drew his knees in so his legs were crossed. It took another couple of breaths, another handful of heartbeats, but Dean could almost feel the air lift around them.

They were friends. They loved and cared for one another, and maybe someday that would blossom into another romance – something much healthier and more stable than the first – but that day wasn't going to be today.

And tomorrow wasn't likely either.

"Do you need a ride home?" Dean asked, when Castiel started gathering his things and separating what was his from what was the Winchesters. He handed the MacBook to Dean, but he kept the guitar in his hand so his friend could open the door.

"Yes, Dean. Thank you."

But there was hope for the day after tomorrow. And that hope was enough for now.

 

~~The End~~

It’s not the fucking end. Sammy, call him and get him to fix this. - D

            I agree with Dean. - C

                                ^Me fucking too. Call him tomorrow, Sam. - L

                                                     Texted him. He’ll be over in the morning. - S

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:
> 
> “Crazy kids” by Ke$ha is the song Lucifer and Castiel dance to in the club.
> 
> “I Could Sing of Your Love Forever” by Paul Baloche (tons of people have sang this song, this is just the version I have) is the song Hester is singing in the shower.
> 
> “Closer” by Tegan and Sara is the song Castiel and Lucifer sing at the bachelorette party.
> 
> “Locked Out of Heaven” by Bruno Mars is the last song at the end of the bachelorette party.
> 
> “Bullet With Butterfly Wings” by Smashing Pumpkins is the song Lucifer was singing in the holding cell.
> 
> “Prom Night” by Jeffrey Starr is the song that Balthazar changes it to at prom that first time. Head-canon alert: I think Castiel and Crowley saw Jeffrey Starr live on tour when they were in Florida on the pill run, that’s how they know of his music and why they looked at each other.
> 
> “Give Me Love” by Ed Sheeran is the song that Castiel observes Lucifer and Sam dancing to. It was brought to my attention by my lovely beta, Bree, and I am forever in her debt because of it.
> 
> “Blow Me (One Last Kiss)” by P!nk is the song that is playing when Castiel gives the letter to Crowley.
> 
> “Use Somebody” by Kings of Leon is the song that Castiel and Dean slow dance too. I have too many headcanons involving KoL to be healthy, so I’ll just keep them all to myself.
> 
> “Landslide” by Stevie Nicks/Fleetwood Mac is the song playing when Castiel and Jimmy had their little chat, which has been a father-daughter song for me and my dad for years. So maybe the importance of it playing in the background was more significant to me than it was to you. If it was, I’m sorry. I had to add something in for myself.
> 
> “Goodbye, Love” from RENT is the song Dean quotes when he says, “You’ll never share real love until you love yourself.” I think it’s interesting that Roger ends the line with, “I should know,” in the musical but Dean doesn’t finish the quote here. I think he leaves it unspoken for a reason. I think Dean does hate himself as much as Castiel hates himself. I don’t think either of them love themselves, and I think Dean does know. That’s why it’s unspoken
> 
> The song Castiel is learning on the guitar at the end is “Ho Hey” by the Lumineers. If this means nothing to you, I’ll just say it. This is the same song that Dean told Byron to ask Castiel to sing in the flashforward in the chapter before. Ah, I love it when the future and present match up.


	14. We Found Love: Part III

**Chapter 14: "We Found Love (Part III)"**

It was the first of September when I woke up around ten am with a text from Sam saying "we need to talk" and that was it. I had finished my story while he was on his honeymoon, and I'd sent it to him before it was completely done editing. I still had a month or two to work on it, and I wanted to make sure it got an okay from at least one of them before I started the printing and binding process.

I hoped that if there were any errors, they would just be little things. That sounded so much worse than anything I was expecting. In a state of panic, I grabbed my keys and started making my way to the car. I texted Sam to let him know I was on my way, and I was just putting the key in the ignition when I got two more texts from him.

 **Sam:** I'm at Dean's.

 **Sam:** Stop freaking out.

That was easier said than done.

I wondered what I'd messed up. Sam hadn't looked over any of the recent chapters – he was too busy finishing his degree, moving into his house, planning a wedding, and flying to Italy and back – he'd only been married for a month and back from his honeymoon for two weeks. I had expected more time.

It didn't take long to get to Sam's house. I was already facing that way, so I pulled up by the curb, noting that both of the cars were in the driveway at Sam's house. I knew where the lawyer was, but I couldn't help the feeling in my stomach thinking that the other newlywed was waiting for me in Dean's house to yell at me as well. I crossed the street – Dean's Impala was in the driveway, but the Volt wasn't – and I hesitated longer than I was comfortable admitting before knocking on the door.

Sam answered a handful of seconds later in sweatpants and a shirt that was too big for him. He had a cup of coffee in his hand, his hair was tied back behind his head, and the dark shadows under his eyes told me he probably didn't get much sleep the night before. It was past noon, and I had always known Sam to be an up-before-dawn-for-a-morning-run kind of guy. The state of him only made the situation worse. He must have seen the fear on my face because he attempted a tired smile and said, "I told you to stop freaking out."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Not yet," Sam said, stepping aside and holding his arm out, opening the door enough So I could walk through the threshold. I hesitated for a moment, but it wasn't like I had much of a choice. I walked in the open door and Sam led me to the kitchen.

Sam's MacBook was in the center of the table where Dean and I had sat when he told me about finding Castiel in the bathtub before he had been admitted. Papers and notebooks were covering the table too, as well as an assortment of photographs and two more empty mugs. Sam sat down where I had sat last time, but I stood, fingers twitching in the hem of my shirt. I wanted to talk about anything other than my story – something safe – and I spit out the first thing I could think of.

"Where's your worse half?"

"Still my better half." Sam offered another smile, like it was a joke between us now. And it was. "On a pizza run with Castiel. None of us have eaten since dinner last night. We haven't slept."

"Oh?" I tried to keep my voice even, but the squeak couldn't be hidden. "Is… um… Dean sleeping then?"

"No," Sam's smile turned a little bit darker with grim amusement. "He's working on a drawing in the garage. Too riled to sleep, but figured if he saw you he'd hit you. The other two felt the same, so they're giving me an hour to talk some sense into you before they get back. I told them it was just a misunderstanding but –"

"I don't understand," I cut in, regretting it the second Sam shut his mouth to listen. "What could I possibly have done to offend you so much? It was true. I didn't… I swear it."

"No, that's not what we're pissed about," Sam gestured to the seat opposite of him and I sat down, a worried frown still etched on my face. The lawyer sighed. "Do you want some coffee or something?"

"Sure," I said, though I didn't. The other man stood and started pouring me a cup from the pot that had probably been refilled numerous times in the past 24 hours. I watched him add milk and sugar, and I wondered when he learned how I liked my coffee. Becky couldn't make my coffee right, and we'd been together for a few months now.

"It's the ending," Sam said, pushing the coffee across the table toward me. I wrapped my hands around the warm mug but didn't take a sip. The lawyer started digging through the pictures. There were plenty of pictures I recognized from hanging around both of the Winchesters' houses. Sam and Castiel in soccer uniforms from the year after Dean and Lucifer graduated and they'd gone out for the team; Sam had been good, Castiel not so much. Sam and Lucifer standing in front Sam's freshman dorm, grinning stupidly at the camera. A candid photo of Dean and Castiel talking and eating cake at Balthazar and Bela's wedding. "You ended it hopeful, but you didn't end it honestly."

"What?" I asked, picking up a picture of a kitten sitting on Castiel's stomach as he slept on the couch.

"You made it seem like everything might work out between Dean and Cas. They were pretty much ready to start over, but you know ten years of the story after that day. You've been hinting at all our futures, but you left it in the past when nothing is clear. I don't think… That's not really fair to the readers."

"But, shouldn't I leave it open? Shouldn't they make their own decision about whether Dean and Cas got back together or whether you and Lucifer stayed together? Shouldn't that be left open to them? You really want me to put a Harry Potter _ten years later_ type epilogue at the end. You want that? _All_ of you want that?"

Sam smiled, dropping his gaze to the wedding ring on his finger. He twisted it around the digit, a fond look forming on his face, and I had my answer.

I asked Sam if I could borrow his computer. He pushed the MacBook toward me, and I started taking notes.

I didn't need to detail every step of the way. I didn't need to detail every bump and every single kiss, but I had to encompass the future in one short chapter because I only had a month to write it. So I skipped some of the early years.

I skipped over Lucifer's freshman year of college, swearing I wouldn't tell about how the day he had the strength to press the guitar strings down for the first time that October and how the people in his music therapy class had filmed him as he strummed a song and cried. I won't tell you about how they sent the clip in an email to Sam who found it after soccer practice. Castiel collapsed on the couch – exhausted – next to Lucifer's boyfriend, the pair of them smiling into MacBook screen, forgetting their own pain when Lucifer pulled his fingers off the strings with tears in his eyes, admiring the angry red lines the strings created for the first time in months.

I skipped over the time Lucifer flew home from Stanford, and Sam was taller than him for the first time. So I won't have to mention the way Lucifer turned to walk back to the plane, and Sam ran after him. Lucifer had joked that he couldn't be the short one in this relationship, so they had to end it. Sam looked hurt for a moment before he asked, "Why not, you're already the girl?" I won't mention how Dean had begged Jimmy to let him crash on the Novaks' couch that night so he didn't have to hear them. Castiel smirked at Dean over his shoulder from where he was standing at the stove, sautéing some meat and onions and peppers for something. When Jimmy agreed and turned back to helping Gabriel with some project, Dean winked at boy in the kitchen. Castiel's smirk turned to an eye-roll.

I skipped over Dean's freshman year of college, swearing I wouldn't tell about how he would come back from class and deposit his books on the dining room table. I wasn't going to mention the hate he had for engineering or the blood, sweat, and tears that went into that first year. Sam tried to help, but Dean's heart wasn't in it. One day, Dean was about to rip one of his hundred dollar textbooks in half, and Castiel walked over to him after soccer practice – he and Sam had become inseparable that year, after all – and suggested Dean take his mandatory humanities class in the spring. He had loved the class so much he ended up switching majors to English, then switching again to English education.

I skipped over Crowley moving to London with his father because he couldn't fight to stay clean with his mother fighting to stay high. He set her up in a program, but she left as soon as she was able. Crowley spent his time in the tailor shop, bothering the tailor's son, Phil, until one day the man asked the teenager if he'd like to learn how to mend a suit. It took over a year for Crowley to admit he was a tailor's apprentice. It took longer than that for Phil to agree to go out and get coffee with the man. It took a year and a half for his mother to overdose. I wasn't going to mention that the first time Crowley had a verbal conversation with Castiel after the time he gave him the letter at the lunch table was at his mother's funeral. The Novaks let Crowley bury his mother in the plot next to Anna, and Castiel had held Crowley as he cried, and even Dean had offered his sympathies with a bottle of Jameson.

I skipped over Castiel's, Balthazar's, and Sam and Gabriel's graduation. I wasn't going to mention Castiel's first few years of college, or how Balthazar's paintings became a huge success pretty much instantly. He painted near-forgery levels of famous prints, but added something to either mock the society or make a statement. His _Starry Night Without the Absinthe_ remained his most sold print to this day. He did get Bela pregnant before they were married, but both of them had expected that. They had been trying, regardless of what they told everyone. They wanted a rushed, shotgun wedding. Gabriel and Kali had focused on their careers, and were both successful, despite Gabriel renting out his closet to me soon after I finished my undergraduate work. I was still pretty sure he only did that because Kali wanted me around. That terrified me.

I skipped over the older Novaks too. Zachariah married a girl named Rachel Adler and they had a son named Samandriel. He was six now. I skipped over Uriel and his long-time girlfriend who had managed to whip him so badly, it was scary. I skipped over Raphael and how Uriel's twin was finally happy with the reflection in the mirror.

I skipped over a lot to bring me a week before the wedding. No, not Sam's wedding, you've already read the important things about that. I mean the wedding before that – a year before that – the summer before Lucifer's last year before he got his doctorate and Sam's last year of law school. It was nine years after the September when everything had started.

It was the wedding you're actually interested in. I won't skip over that this time.

* * *

Castiel stood in front of the baggage carousel with his arms crossed, his jaw set and his angry frown was not going away despite the fact that he was alone for the first time since he got the news. Well he wasn't alone – a handful of other people were waiting around for their loved ones and their baggage – but Castiel didn't know any of them. And although he couldn't shake his fury, he was enjoying some alone time.

He didn't get it often.

The carousel started turning, baggage tumbling down in front of him. Castiel kept his eyes open, but tried to relax himself in the mean time. It would only be a few moments until the people from the plane would make it down to the baggage claim and he wouldn't be alone again. But privately, he liked stewing in his rage. He enjoyed thinking, at least briefly, about the things he could do if he acted on it.

He thought of running through the terminal and getting on a plane. He didn't really have a lot of money that was just his but together, in their joint bank account, he had more than enough to get away. He wouldn't be the first groom to run away a week before his wedding, but he probably would be the only one who did to keep himself from murdering his fiancé in a bout of rage.

But he couldn't figure out what the fuck Dean was thinking.

Castiel was trying to come up with clever ways to hide the body when he noticed his brother's suitcase tumbling down the carrousel. He stepped forward to claim it when another, smaller one came down after it. Castiel sighed – couldn't he ever pack lightly? – before lifting both of the white cases from the carrousel (with some difficulty, they were heavy as shit) and moved them away so others could grab their cases.

Sam was supposed to be coming in on the same flight, right? Castiel thought. He turned back to the luggage to look for Sam's.

It wasn't long before he heard his name being shouted from down the hall. Castiel wasn't the only one to turn toward the voice, but at least nobody in the Lawrence airport recognized Lucifer. The last time Castiel had flown out to California, it took them an hour to leave the airport because a bunch of people kept trying to stop and talk to Lucifer. Between the musicals and plays and bands Lucifer had been in over the past several years, he had kind of become a local sensation out there.

Lucifer was waving – next to him, Sam raised his hand with a little wave too – but almost instantly the blond boy took off, running toward Castiel with open arms like it was the first time they'd seen each other in months.

It wasn't.

Castiel managed to stay upright when his brother hugged him, but his flailing arm knocked Lucifer's glasses askew. There was something about hugging Lucifer that made Castiel feel safe. Maybe it was the time they spent together back when his brother was living in that Church, or maybe it was when they were alone together in a locked ward. When Lucifer had left for college, it felt like a part of Castiel had left too. Whenever he had him back, he felt whole again.

For the first time since that morning, Castiel let his anger slip away, even though Lucifer kept hitting him in the back with his guitar case.

"Oh," Lucifer said, breaking the hug and shooting a glance behind him. Sam had stopped walking some twenty feet away and was on the phone, probably talking to Jess, and Lucifer reached into his pocket. Castiel couldn't say that he was surprised by the box he pulled out or by the ring that was inside it, but he couldn't help but smile at it anyway. Lucifer was holding his breath, blue eyes open and vulnerable. "So what do you think?"

"You're a little late," Castiel said, seriously, leaning closer to get a better look at the ring. "I'm getting married in a week. Also, I think incest is frowned upon in…"

"I designed it myself, Cas. I went to the jeweler and they let me help make it. I just haven't been able to figure out how I want to actually do it, yet. I haven't told anyone else I'm planning on it. Keep it a secret," Lucifer closed the box and slipped it back in his pocket, shooting a grin over Castiel's shoulder. "Dean's behind you."

Castiel felt the pit in his chest growing again. He couldn't quite help the scowl when he shot back, "And here comes Sam."

Castiel busied himself looking for, locating, and fetching Sam's luggage while Dean exchanged pleasantries with Lucifer before jogging up to Sam. He ignored the brothers hugging just like he ignored Lucifer's confused look, and he dropped Sam's bag. He thought about ignoring Sam too, when he gave him a small smile and took a step forward to hug him, but it was almost impossible to deny Sam anything. There was also nothing like hugging Sam Winchester. He was huge and warm and hugged in earnest. Castiel had to drag himself away from his friend's embrace.

Then Dean put his hand over Castiel's shoulder, and the change was instant. Castiel tensed and flinched away at the same time. He flushed slightly – more at the looks that Lucifer and Sam were giving him than the touch or his reaction – and once contact was broken, he turned to Dean and fixed him with a glare.

And that asshole, he smirked.

"Um…" Sam started.

"He's mad at me," Dean replied, in quite possibly the most belittling tone Castiel had ever heard before. Castiel was shaking with anger and self-righteous fury. He pointed a finger at Dean, knowing he was being childish but he couldn't be bothered to care.

"He _ruined_ my wedding."

"That's really rich, Cas, cause who planned at least half of _your_ fucking wedding?"

"You should have _asked_ me, Dean," Castiel pushed at Dean's shoulder. It was a small gesture, but it was one he knew the other man hated. Apparently, Lucifer and Sam did too, because his brother suddenly had a hand around Castiel's wrist, pulling him back enough to get space between them so nobody could throw a punch. Sam was already grabbing at Dean to guide him toward the door.

Castiel and Dean had never gotten into an actual fist fight, but there was a first time for everything.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Dean hissed back, but the fight was draining from his body like it was a physical thing. Castiel clung to his anger, letting out a few more puffs of breath before Dean shook Sam off and held his hands up in surrender. "It was a present."

Castiel opened his mouth – to argue or try to explain why he was so angry, he didn't know – but before anything came out, Lucifer picked one of his bags and handed it to his brother. "I have a massive headache, so can we just get going? We can seriously ref a cage match tomorrow morning."

Dean picked up one of Sam's bags, Castiel picked up another one of Lucifer's, and they walked outside to the Impala. It wasn't until Dean was pulling onto the ramp to get on the highway that Castiel realized he should have sat in the back with his brother and let Sam sit up front.

The tension in the car was so thick that Castiel could have suffocated in it. It was the first time he ever thought Dean looked old and tired, resting his elbow on the door and resting his head in his hand, driving with the other hand. His eyes stayed on the road. Castiel couldn't be closer to his own door if he tried. The easiness of just yesterday – just this morning – was gone. The anger was dissipating slowly, and instead, Castiel felt empty.

In the back, Sam and Lucifer were chatting just under their breaths like they didn't just spend a bunch of time talking in a terminal and on the plane. Sam was sitting back, long legs spread out and his knees were hitting the back of Dean's seat. He had a tired smile on his face, amused that Lucifer was leaning halfway across the back seat so he could see him to talk to him while he wiped his glasses off on his shirt.

They were all quiet for a few more minutes, and Castiel was going crazy with it. Guilt was starting to seep in with his anger – he _knew_ Dean just wanted to surprise him, but Dean couldn't understand why Castiel got so angry and that was the problem – and he didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. He needed the distraction.

"What are you working on?" Castiel shot over his shoulder, looking at Sam first then Lucifer, opening up the conversation to anyone who would talk to him. Well, anyone except Dean. Castiel knew what Dean was up to.

And Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, like he knew he was excluded from the conversation but he was starving for it as bad as Castiel was.

"We were working on a new song in the plane," Lucifer said, pushing his glasses up his nose. Castiel smiled at the gesture. His brother hated his glasses – he almost always wore contacts – but something about the cabin pressure in airplanes gave him a terrible headache behind his eyes. The last time he ended up flying with his contacts in, he ripped them out halfway through the flight and couldn't see anything until he could pick up more the next day at Wal-Mart. But Castiel thought they looked good on him.

"You annoyed everyone on a plane with your singing and they didn't lynch you?" Dean asked, his voice teasing. Lucifer smiled at him, and Castiel felt the word _traitor_ bubbling in his chest. He managed to hold it in.

"You wouldn't believe how quiet we've gotten at some things," Lucifer grinned. Sam just rolled his eyes.

Dean said, "Thank God."

"No, but for real. We were learning it for your wedding, but we only learned a bit of it. Prolly won't have time now. Wanna hear it?"

Castiel had seen Lucifer and Sam at work. It had been a while since the last time Castiel had seen the two of them sitting across from each other, figuring out an arrangement both of them liked. Sam had been busy with law school the past two years, and Jess rarely left him alone long enough to do much of anything for fun. Lucifer had his classes to teach and a handful of shows and bands he was always a part of. When they visited Lawrence, they usually liked to relax and show off what they already knew. But Castiel _had_ seen their process before, and he could imagine it now.

If they were in the airplane, they would have been quiet, a shared iPod between the two of them, marking out the differences in the harmony and melody. If it was a song they both already knew, it would only take minutes to divide up the vocals. If they didn't know it, most of the two hour plane ride would have been learning the lyrics.

Dean didn't usually care either way – they sang all the damn time, Lucifer more than Sam, but he usually goaded Sam into it before long – so it was up to Castiel to nod at his brother.

It took a second for Lucifer to grab his iPod from his pocket and unwind the headphones. He listened to it for a moment to find the right note, which he gave to Sam, who gave a different note back at him. The iPod was abandoned, and after a second, the pair of them started singing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

" _I'll marry my lover in a place to admire."_

Castiel didn't mean to look at Dean, but he couldn't really help himself. Dean was looking back at him – confusion, anger, hurt all obvious on his face – before he looked back to the road, his fingers tightening on the wheel.

" _I don't even have to ask her; I can look in her eyes and thank God that I am forgiven."_

"Stop," Castiel turned back in his seat, facing the road. They continued singing, and Castiel felt the rumble in his chest when he repeated himself louder. Lucifer and Sam fell silent in the back seat, and Castiel turned to the side to look out the window, rubbing the palm of his hand over his cheekbones.

They were silent the rest of the trip back to Dean and Sam's childhood home.

* * *

Sam handed one of the bags from the trunk to Castiel, and he didn't stick around. He walked into the house through the garage door. Sam looked from Lucifer to Dean to see who would run in to console him, but neither of them looked particularly interested in the job. It was up to Sam to delegate, so he handed a bag and the guitar to Lucifer and said, "Check on your brother."

"Am I my brother's keeper?" Lucifer asked, but they both knew the answer. They knew the answer nine years ago when Michael broke Lucifer's arm and kicked him out. They knew when Castiel carved himself and Lucifer cut himself too so he wouldn't be alone. They knew when Dean called Sam a little over a year ago in a complete panic because he asked his best friend to marry him and Castiel had said yes. Neither of them had a clue how to plan a wedding. And after that first night of engagement bliss wore off, the pair of them were freaking out.

They had no idea how to be husbands. Some days they didn't even know how to be friends.

And that was why Lucifer and Sam would always end up side-by-side in a plane back to Lawrence because they were their brothers' keepers. "Fine," Lucifer said, like he was a martyr for doing it, but Sam knew he didn't mind. "I'll go find him."

Sam knew Dean wouldn't need prompting to explain, but while he had a free moment, he needed to show Dean something. By the time his older brother had shut his door and got to the trunk, Sam already had the ring out. He held it toward Dean, and the elder Winchester took it. The worried frown melted into something much softer; a grin broke out on his face as Dean turned the ring over in his hands.

"Jess is a lucky girl," Dean handed the ring back to Sam, and the younger boy noticed how his brother looked away, avoiding the look he was trying to give him.

"Dean."

"Why didn't she fly out with you for the wedding again?" Dean looked up, rubbing his hand over his jeans. He was avoiding the conversation; he didn't really care about Jess. At least not right this second.

"She's busy, Dean. She'll be here later. Now, what did you do to Cas?"

"Nothing," Dean frowned – it sounded more like a whine than Dean would have admitted to himself – and he sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and looked back down. "He found out about Crowley."

Sam bit his lower lip, shoving the ring back in his box and the box back into his bag. He knew Dean had invited Crowley to the wedding – the Winchesters were in charge of invitations and food and it would have been impossible for Dean to hide it from Sam – but Sam had been telling Dean he needed to tell Castiel about it for months.

It was better than getting to the wedding and finding him there. That could have been pretty explosive.

"How did he find out?"

"I left the stupid RSVP chart thing out when I went to school this morning. He was picking up the table and saw it before he went to get Byron. I thought he'd be excited. I mean, they're friends."

"He cheated on you with Crowley," Sam reminded him. "You know he hasn't forgiven himself for that."

"But I thought this would show him that I've forgiven him for it," Dean was still looking down, but he looked up through his eyelashes toward his younger brother. "I mean, it's not like this is the first time they've spoken or saw each other in nine years or anything. I don't get why this is any different than having coffee down the street."

Sam could see both sides – he really, truly could – because for a long time, Lucifer and Jess were at odds. They were jealous of each other. It took a bit of time for the pair of them to become okay and stop their snide remarks about the other. He could see why Castiel wouldn't want that reminder at his wedding, why it was so much different from going to get coffee and going out to dinner and being constant pen-pals for the past nine years to actually having Crowley at the wedding. His biggest temptation would be sitting near him on what was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. It did add unnecessary stress.

But he could understand Dean, too. Crowley was Castiel's best friend, outside of the Novaks and the Winchesters. Actually, he was pretty much Castiel's only friend outside his family. If Dean was ever going to show that he loved and trusted Castiel, it would be by inviting Crowley to the wedding and to the bachelor party.

Oh fuck, this could go pretty badly.

"He loves me," Dean said, frowning. "I know he does. He's not going to do anything again."

"I know that," Sam said, trying to seem noncommittal because choosing between his brother and his best friend was something Sam decided long ago he would never do. It muddied up the water too much. "I know he won't, I know he loves you, but he doesn't think the same or he wouldn't be so pissed. He might even think you're testing him. You can't blame him, Dean. You made a choice about your wedding without consulting your fiancé and it sort of blew up on you. Whatever happens, it's on you."

Dean looked down, and Sam shut the Impala's trunk.

"I just love him," Dean was still staring down at a grease mark on the garage floor. "I just wanted to make him happy."

"Well, at least he knows that Crowley made all the suits, right?" Sam asked. Dean looked up, a look of guilty panic on his face. "Oh, Jesus Christ, Dean," Sam buried his face in his hands. "You have seriously got to start communicating better."

* * *

"What a jackass," Lucifer said, void of any malice or commitment to the topic at hand. Instead, his eyes were rolling back in his head as he bit into turkey sandwich. The lettuce he put on it had been soaking in Hester's famous homemade dressing and Lucifer seriously thought he died and went to heaven. Lucifer took another bite, shutting his eyes and using his thumb to push the bite the rest of the way in his mouth. Around his food he said, "What a Neanderthal. What an ignoramus."

Castiel turned from in front of the sink. He cleaned when he was angry. He sounded exhausted when he asked, "You knew Crowley was coming, didn't you?"

"Yep. Sam told me months ago," the song changed – by the time Lucifer made it to the kitchen his brother was already doing the dishes with his _I Hate Dean Winchester_ playlist playing loud enough that Dean would hear it as soon as he came into the house – and Lucifer sighed. "Are you kidding me, Cas? You seriously have to work on your anger management because this is just petty. 

" _Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead."_

"The petty music _is_ my healthy way of dealing with it. I haven't gone back to drugs," Castiel shrugged and turned back to the sink. A few minutes later the song switched and Lucifer listened to Kelly Clarkson screaming as he finished his sandwich. He dumped the dirty plate in Castiel's dish water – it earned him a glare and nothing more – before he wiped his hands on his pants.

"It could be worse. Sam's 'love sucks' playlist is only Taylor Swift."

"Adele isn't much better, content wise. It's all break-up stuff."

"It's not the content, Cas, it's the delivery! Seriously, do _not_ get me into another Taylor Swift verse Adele fight, okay? I almost got sent to jail the last time someone brought it up," But Lucifer just leaned against the kitchen counter and watched his brother systematically clean the dishes. He could imagine those fingers pressing down the keys in time with Adele's piano instead of clenching the cloth so tight his fingers were turning white. Once Castiel was done with the few dishes that had been sitting in there, Lucifer patted his back.

"Well, you shouldn't be so mad. I mean, you know how much his suits go for? He's just giving them to all of us. Probably monetary compensation for that thousand you paid with your ass. Plus inflation."

Castiel turned to Lucifer and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's a good thing that Crowley's coming and that he made your suits," Lucifer grinned. "And it's a damn good thing he's just up and giving them to you because Dean would have to save everything he made for years to get you one of those on his own."

"I'm getting married," Castiel hissed, his eyes narrowing. And Lucifer held his breath. Of course. Of-fucking-course Dean wouldn't tell Castiel everything. "And Crowley made the clothes I will be taking off on my wedding night to consummate my betrothal? Crowley will make it into my bedroom on my wedding night. Is that what you're telling me?"

"I think that… um…"

"I am going to kill him," Castiel always had the cold calmness of a psychopath when he was really angry. The only way that Lucifer could tell his brother was coming apart at the seams were the splotches of color bursting on his face and neck. He looked full of righteous fury – or he would to the untrained eye – but Lucifer knew his brother's tells. He was panicking. He was about to cry. "I can't… Lucifer, I can't… _we_ cannot…"

The song changed.

And Lucifer raised his eyes to the heavens and thanked God.

Castiel froze for a moment, before the small start of a smile broke out on his face. It was barely there at first, but his eyes closed – remembering – and Lucifer watched as his face lit up. Castiel wouldn't tell the story, but he honestly didn't need to. It was the stuff of legend by then.

A little over a year ago, Dean and Castiel were drinking in the Roadhouse. Well, Dean was drinking and Castiel was licking his fingers clean of the sauce that Jo used on her crazy hot wings with a plate full of chicken bones in front of him. John was biting into a hamburger, Ellen was pushing him a Root Beer, and Jo was wiping down the bar less than a foot from where they were.

Ellen was complaining about not having any grandbabies yet, which mortified Jo to no end.

"Ma, I'm only twenty-five. You're asking me to throw away my life and settle down. You should be happy that I'm not an unwed mother."

"I never said you had to be unwed," Ellen said, grinning at John. "I think Ash is still single. Marry him."

The look on Jo's face was priceless. Ash was like her brother – just like Dean was – and Ellen damn well knew that. She only said it to get a rise. Dean was laughing just a bit harder than John, but Castiel was trying to wipe his hands clean. His face was paler than normal – all the blood concentrating at his lips, which were angry red from the sauce – and his mouth was open, gasping at the air. He didn't realize Dean was staring at him at first, and when he gave a pathetic look back, Dean smirked into beer.

"Tell me about it," John said. "I thought with two boys, one of them would have messed up and gotten a girl pregnant by now. And look how that turned out."

Ellen started laughing, but if Castiel took any offense to John's comment, he didn't show it. Instead he reached his grabby hands toward Jo in a sad excuse for begging. "Could I have some milk, please?"

"I told you that it was too hot for you," Jo grinned. They kept milk in the refrigerator for White Russians. She took pity on him and poured him a glass. Castiel gulped it down greedily.

Dean watched his Adam's apple bob as he did so. "He sleeps with me on a regular basis. If I'm not too hot for him, your wings sure as hell ain't."

Castiel rolled his eyes over the glass, and Jo giggled.

"So when's the wedding, Dean?" Ellen asked, leaning an elbow on the bar, grinning at him. Dean sighed. It was at least a monthly question now – sometimes weekly if he was unlucky – and he hated when they brought it up because they never talked about it. Castiel and Dean didn't start dating again until Castiel had been clean for two years. Castiel wanted to take it slow – not the relationship itself, Castiel's plea to take it slow came while Dean was on his knees in front of him – but he didn't want to rush the rest of the stuff. The couple stuff. The marriage and kids and picket fence and stuff.

A year later when Sam and Gabe left to go to college, Jimmy went back to Pontiac. Instead of getting an apartment, he unofficially moved in with John and Dean. They never talked about it – they acted like Castiel had someplace else he could go – but they were living together. They shared a bed every night. All of Castiel's stuff was in that house. They had rushed.

A year after that, John moved in with Ellen down the street. It took Dean and Castiel a long time to switch their bedrooms from the one Dean had grown up in to the master one at the end of the hall. It took another four years for it to really feel like both of their places – Dean's old room was Castiel's office/library – they had different furniture, a different layout, their own pictures and memories hanging up over the walls.

They never talked about their future because Castiel was convinced he could slip up at any time and ruin it. Or at least, that was why Castiel didn't like talking about it when they were new to it again. Dean was too afraid of upsetting the love of his life, so he never once asked anything. Marriage was a piece of paper. Kids would be awesome, but if Castiel didn't want them, Sam would have a kid for Dean to spoil – on top of Samandriel and baby Byron and whatever other Novak found himself knocked up along the way – so kids would have been great but Dean could survive without them.

Even though he always imagined himself with kids. What he wanted didn't matter. He only wanted what Castiel could give him.

"If you two get married, you can adopt me an Asian grandbaby," John was saying, and Dean didn't know how long they had been going on while he zoned but he needed to stop them.

"Look, we don't want kids, okay, dad? We don't want to get married or anything. We're completely fine the way we are right now. Right, Cas?" Dean put the bottle down, turning to face his boyfriend looking like he wanted back up.

For some reason, Castiel broke. He had been avoiding the conversation too – figuring they didn't talk about it because Dean didn't want it – but if he was being asked directly, he didn't want to lie about it, either.

"I would like kids," His voice was quiet, his fingers still wrapped around the empty milk glass. "Provided they weren't mine biologically. I don't want to pass anything on genetically to my children. But I don't mind the idea of adopting." Castiel licked his lips, turning his gaze toward Dean. He took in Dean's cheekbones and freckles and eyes and offered a little smile. "Or a surrogate mother if you were the biological father."

Dean's eyes were wide, his mouth open. He licked his lips and leaned toward Castiel, his hand finding Castiel's wrist to squeeze at his pulse. "You're serious?"

"I would like to married first, as well," Castiel added as an afterthought. "To make sure I had some parental rights over the child. And… and right now, if something happened to you, I'm technically not family. They could…"

"Do you love me, Cas?" Dean's hands squeezed Castiel's wrist even harder. "Fuck the rest of it about logic. Because marriage and kids isn't about logic, Cas. It's about love."

"Yes, Dean," Castiel's hand left the glass and folded over Dean's. "Yes, of course. More than anything. It is because I love you that I want to raise children with you. It's because I love you that I fear something happening that would keep me from you because of something as asinine as a piece of paper."

"Then marry me, Cas," Dean's eyebrows rose in an open expression. "We'll pick a date and get married. We can get kids. Maybe a dog – well, okay, Inny would hate a dog, but still – we could do this. We should do this."

"Yes, Dean," Castiel said, his face nearly split in half with his smile. "Yes, of course I will marry you."

They both forgot that they had an audience until the whole bar was clapping and cheering. Dean looked surprised for a second, then his face fell, worry lines creasing his forehead.

"Fuck. Fuck, I'm sorry, Cas. I just botched that. I should have taken you out to dinner, or like, bought you a ring or something. Do you want… let's postpone it for a day or two. I'll plan something more romantic. And just don't… don't change your answer."

"No," Castiel's hands worked their way out of Dean's death grip on them. The younger man cupped his boyfriend's – now fiancé's face – thumbs pressed just under his jaw, fingers spreading up over the stubble at Dean's cheeks. "No, this was perfect, Dean. Thank you."

It only took a few minutes for John and Ellen and Jo to smother them. After promising to look after him, Castiel finally accepted the congratulatory shot from Ellen and as soon as he had it down, Dean was dragging him across the bar to the jukebox. He put in the money and then wrapped his arms around Castiel's hips, dragging their bodies together. Castiel let out a huff of breath against Dean's neck, arms wrapping back over Dean's shoulders, letting Dean rock them slowly back and forth to their first song as an engaged couple.

" _Feels like the first time. It feels like the very first time."_

The song had almost the same effect on Dean as it did on Castiel when he walked into the kitchen. Sam followed him, digging through the fridge and letting a surprised sound grow in his throat at the sight of Hester's dressing. Castiel was still smiling near the sink, and when Dean saw Castiel smiling, he burst into a smile too.

"I'm still mad at you," Castiel said, avoiding the island and Sam to stand before Dean. "But we should talk about it."

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Dean said, reaching out to wrap his arms around Castiel's shoulders. He paused at the last second and asked, "If I try to hug you, you're not going to push me away again, are you?"

"No, Dean," Castiel loved the weight of Dean's arms on his shoulders, pulling him until his face was pressed up against Dean's chest. "We're getting married next week whether Anthony is there or not."

But that really didn't solve it. The song changed and the moment was over. They moved to the living room, Sam and Dean with beers on the couch, Lucifer lying on his back on the love seat, fingers itching at the gray-and-white cat that sat on his stomach. Castiel was on the floor a few feet away, a binder open in front of him. He thumbed through the pages and pages of handwritten letters inside it.

They didn't need to ask. Sometimes Castiel just sat in the corner and read through some of the letters Crowley had sent him through the years.

Castiel had kept all of them.

Half an hour later, Lucifer and Castiel's phone rang with the same tune ( _"Baby, did you forget to take your meds?"_ ) and they both stood to take their pills. Castiel hugged the binder filled with Crowley's letters to his chest, and Lucifer lifted the cat and placed him down on Sam's lap.

"I'm going to go to bed," Castiel announced, chewing at his bottom lip. "I'll see you up there."

Dean held out an arm and Castiel didn't hesitate to step forward and lean down, capturing Dean's lips with his own. "Night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean. We can talk in the morning if you wish."

Dean nodded, and Castiel walked up the stairs. Lucifer threw a grin behind his shoulder, saying, "Good night, Winchesters," as he climbed up after him.

* * *

They heard the shower start running fifteen minutes after the Novaks went upstairs. Dean was grateful Sam stayed quiet; the younger Winchester was far too preoccupied ignoring his allergies with a cat on his lap. And of course, the cat was staring at Sam with a look of determination, daring him to stop petting.

Dean took pity on his brother and lifted the cat from his stomach, sitting him down on the floor. "You know Sam is allergic to you, Inny. Your soul purpose is life isn't to annoy us Winchesters. Go to your daddy."

The cat just laid down and started licking at his fur.

"Inias, go bother Cas."

"I'm like 96% sure cats aren't dogs, Dean," Sam said, smirking behind his very mild discomfort from the cat being so close to him for a short amount of time. "You can't just tell them to do something and they do it."

"He fucking understands me," Dean said, finishing his beer. "You should see Cas with him. Dude gives him a command and the cat does it like he is a dog." Sam smirked. "You want some Claritin?"

"I still can't believe you pop allergy meds all year round just so you can give your guy a cat," Sam grinned. "When'd you get so whipped?"

Dean rolled his eyes but he never got the chance to respond. Castiel was standing in a plaid pair of pajama bottoms halfway down the stairs; a white cotton shirt covered his torso. He looked exhausted in a way he hadn't when he was filled with fury a half an hour before. He gave a small, defeated look and asked, "Did you hide my Sherlock DVDs again?"

Dean cringed. "Yes. I, uh, did it before we left. I figured you'd lay in bed all night watching The Fall and you shouldn't watch it alone. I don't like when you hide in our room and watch it alone when you're mad at me."

"It's a TV show, Dean."

"You cry every time."

"It's _sad_ ," Castiel crossed his arms in front of him. It didn't make him look defiant; it just made him look smaller, like he was huddling in on himself. "You hid Star Trek, War Horse, and Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, too. But you didn't hide The Hobbit."

"Well, that was an accident," Dean said, smiling. Castiel wasn't an idiot. He knew the common denominator. "I always forget about Smaug."

Castiel offered a smile, his eyes darting from Sam back to Dean again. He rubbed his arms. "I'm going to fall asleep to one of them, if you want to watch it with me. We have to call the photographer and the caterer and all the guests who didn't RSVP tomorrow, might be good to have an early night."

"Yeah," Dean stood. "Yeah, sounds good, Cas." Dean turned to Sam. "The extra blankets and things are in your old room. In the closet. I think the air mattress is in there, too, if either of you want it. Help yourselves to whatever."

Sam waved them off, and Dean followed Castiel upstairs, resisting the urge to kiss his back as they climbed the steps. Lucifer was still in the shower when they passed it. Dean shut the door to their bedroom and stripped his shirt and pants while Castiel put one of The Hobbit movies in. If Castiel was choosing, he almost always picked the second one. Dean was surprised when he pulled the covers back on their bed to realize it was the first – Dean's favorite.

His eyes darted away from the TV when Castiel looped his thumbs under the waistband of his pajamas, pushing them down his thighs. The smaller man wasn't even aware Dean was watching him when he stepped out of the material at his feet, but he was when his hands found the hem of his shirt, debating whether or not to lift it over his head. His eyes met Dean's, and he dropped his hands, crawling into bed in his underpants and a t-shirt.

"It's kind of hot for a shirt," Dean commented, turning on his side to face Castiel. For a moment, they looked at each other – Dean hoped he wasn't looking too desperate for their normalcy, but Castiel only kept himself covered in bed if he was upset and Dean was dying to fix this – then Castiel's mouth curved in the corners and he sat up, reaching over his head to bunch the material in his fist between his shoulder blades and tug it up an over his head.

Dean's hand was already halfway across the bed – aimed for Castiel's chest – when the man laid back down and said, "Don't get any ideas, Dean. I'm still angry with you."

"I'm sorry I invited him," Dean let his hand fall. There was two feet of space between them, but it felt like a mile. "But he's your best friend, and you can't deny that. I thought you'd want him to see you happy."

"But what if I slip?" Castiel's hand found Dean's. "I don't see him all that often. What if once the pleasantries are exchanged, I…"

"You won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you love me, Cas. And I love you. And we're getting married. We've already started looking into getting kids. I know you aren't going to throw it away this late in the game," Dean turned his hand over, thumb rubbing at Castiel's palm. "If you have any doubts about your love for me and your love for him, then we won't get married, Cas. That's fine. You have to tell me now, though."

Castiel looked like he had been slapped, "You know there is no comparison. You know I have no doubts about you or this. My doubts lie within myself."

"Well, you shouldn't doubt yourself, 'cause nothing is going to happen," Dean reached forward, his palm finding Castiel's bare hip. Once the touch was established, the smaller man moved instantly to Dean, closing the gap between them like they weren't fighting at all. They became a tangled mess of limbs, and when Castiel sighed, Dean felt it on his collarbone.

It took a long while for Castiel to finally succumb to sleep, but Dean just held him until his breathing became shallow and consistent. Then he pressed his nose down into Castiel's hair and closed his eyes.

"Nothing'll happen," Dean whispered breathlessly, like a prayer.

* * *

Sam was pulling back the flat sheet on the twin bed in his old bedroom when the scent of Dean and Castiel's laundry detergent floated up to him. Good, Dean had taken recently cleaned sheets and made the bed again. He hated the smell of dusty, unused cotton. He couldn't sleep on it unless he knew it was clean.

It wasn't like he really fit in the twin anymore, anyway. He should just get the air mattress out.

But the bed, like the house, had so many great memories for him. Sam smoothed his hand over the sheet, a small smile on his face.

"I freaking searched everywhere and I can't find your brother's spare electric blanket," Lucifer said, padding into the room, barefooted. He was still fresh from the shower; the backs of his arms and legs were pink from the water being too hot. His basketball shorts were black but his shirt was white and practically see-through because the bastard never dried himself before putting it on. The thin material clung to his muscles, leaving nothing to the imagination. If he noticed that Sam's attention was focused on his chest, he didn't say anything. "I don't want to be cold tonight."

"It's July," Sam rolled his eyes, letting them settle over the other man's face. He hadn't bothered putting his contacts in this late, and Sam couldn't help but smile. His hair was a mess from running his hands through it while it was still wet – but it had mostly stopped dripping at that point – and he was rubbing his palm over the scars on his left arm. The flesh of the biggest scar – his last cut that landed him in Grace – was raised and darker from the hot water, slicing the tattoo in half. Lucifer offered Sam a small smile and a shrug.

"They have central heating, and I don't want to get cold," he insisted, before his eyes dropped from Sam's face to the bed. Sam's hands were still rubbing over the sheet and all Lucifer had to do was raise an eyebrow and Sam was flustered. Lucifer dropped to his knees and started digging in his duffle bag.

"I… I just… I just like my old bed," Sam drew his hand away, opting instead to cross his arms in front of him like some kind of shield. He couldn't think of anything to say to explain why the bed meant so much to him, so he just said the first thing that popped into his head. "I've had good times here. You know, I lost my virginity on this bed?"

Lucifer stood with something in his hand, and his grin grew and turned predatory. He reached a hand out blindly to find the door, pushing it closed so slowly and silently that Sam could actually hear the click as the door latched to the jamb. He could hear his own gulp as Lucifer turned around, taking a few steps toward him until there was just a breath of space between them. They weren't touching yet, but Sam's skin was alight with the promise of contact.

"I know," Lucifer murmured, putting the small bottle from his bag on the table next to the bed. Sam gulped as Lucifer reached out so his other hand could close around Sam's left wrist, thumb tracing over the ink pattern. "I was there, remember?"

"We can't," Sam whispered, but he didn't try to pull his arm free. Instead, his fingers flexed, his chin dropping enough so he was looking down into Lucifer's eyes. "Jess…" Sam shook his head like the motion would clear his thoughts of the body in front of him. "Jess said that…"

"I don't care what Jess said. She isn't here now. And _we_ are," Lucifer leaned forward and suddenly they were flush together. Sam could feel the damp material of Lucifer's shirt through his own. His shirt was cool – his body and the air conditioning were cooling the moisture that was soaking into the cotton – and Sam's free hand found Lucifer's hip despite his protest. "I want to recreate that night. It would be fun, Sam. C'mon, for old time's sake?"

"Dean and Cas are right down the hall," Sam protested feebly, fingers brushing Lucifer's shirt out of the way so he could clench at bare skin.

"We'll be quiet," Lucifer's face turned to Sam's clavicle. He pressed a kiss against the shirt over the bone before turning his head, nuzzling his nose into the crook at Sam's neck. "It wouldn't be the first time we messed around with them home. They never care that we're here. They're never quiet. We'll at least be courteous."

"Lucifer," Sam turned his head, nosing into the blond man's damp hair, smelling like his own shampoo and body wash but undeniably like the old house, too. He smelled like home. A smile broke out on his face and he spread his legs, leaning against the bed. He rested his hips against the mattress, making himself shorter – Lucifer just a little bit taller than Sam in their current position – just enough that he had to look up instead of across to meet his eye. "If we do this we can't go back, you know."

The grin Lucifer had been sporting softened, recognizing the line Sam had said to him seven years ago. The hand that wasn't clinging to Sam's wrist rose to run over Sam's jaw, pushing back until his fingers were in the other man's hair. "I don't want to go back."

Sam licked his lips, leaning toward Lucifer, aiming to kiss him. Instead, Lucifer backed away, blue eyes finding Sam's, and he raised the man's wrist to his mouth. It was what he had done that night years ago, pressing a kiss to the center of the star that Sam had drawn on himself for years. Except that night – just like tonight – there was no sharpie on the man's wrist. The night Sam and Lucifer first shared a bed in a biblical sense had been on Sam's eighteenth birthday. Earlier that day, they had traded the sharpie for ink and Lucifer had pressed a gentle kiss against the new tattoo, careful of the sensitive flesh and the A&D ointment.

Sam's hand found Lucifer's wrist, pressing his lips against the matching star and the raised flesh of his scars.

They didn't actually relive that first night with any sort of accuracy – it was almost impossible to duplicate a first time, as the first time always tended to be awkward and embarrassing – not to mention it was hard to unlearn another person's body. Instead, Lucifer knew to brush his fingers up Sam's sides as he pushed his shirt up and over his head. Sam knew to rub his thumbs in small circles over Lucifer's hip bones before pushing the shorts off.

Lucifer knew trailing kisses down Sam's neck would make it take longer to get his belt and pants off by 24 seconds, but it was so worth it to hear the soft noises Sam couldn't quite hold back in his throat.

When Lucifer leaned Sam backwards, crawling between his legs, he pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before letting his tongue dart out to push against Sam's bottom lip, asking for permission. They wasted no time – Sam opened his mouth, angling his chin up while his hand found the back of Lucifer's head, keeping him held down, mouths together – and before long, Sam was arching his back off the mattress, trying to find any sort of contact with Lucifer's body.

The blond man lowered himself to the younger man, and Sam tossed his head back with the roll of Lucifer's hips. Lucifer's teeth found Sam's neck, but the younger boy's hand came to his head, guiding him further down his chest.

"Don't leave marks they can see," Sam begged, breathless.

He heard the chuckle deep in Lucifer's throat and Sam pressed his hips up despite himself. Lucifer bit lower – closer to his collarbone – before licking over the mark. "Modesty or embarrassment?"

"'M not embarrassed," Sam painted, fingers sliding down the man's back to grip at his hips. He pulled, tugging him up and making him thrust. His eyes slid shut at the feeling of their skin rubbing together – rutting together – like they were teenagers again. "Could never be embarrassed of you."

"That's right," Lucifer dropped a kiss to Sam's chest, nipping and kissing his way down. His hands were rubbing over Sam's thighs – blunt nails pushing into Sam's skin, but not enough to hurt – he paused at Sam's hip, pressing an open mouth kiss to the bone. "You still wear my mark. No matter what, you always will."

"Always," Sam breathed, trying to cant his hips up again, but Lucifer was holding him down. "Please."

They were being quiet – even with a wall joining this room to the master bedroom – Dean and Castiel wouldn't be able to hear them. The loudest sound Sam made, the loudest sound he ever made, was the groan that slipped from his chest when Lucifer took him in his mouth. Sam's fingers dug into the blond hair, not pushing or guiding, but clenching and scratching. The effort to keep quiet was always expelled in other ways. A pull of hair, a digging of nails against skin. Lucifer was sure he knew all the tricks to get Sam off in no time – he knew the exact movements of his wrist that drove Sam crazy, the exact place on his thigh to bite to make him howl and writhe, but they had time tonight. There was no need to rush. So when Lucifer felt the half-moons of Sam's fingernails nearly breaking the skin at his wrist, he knew he needed to slow down. He didn't want to end it so quickly.

Lucifer pulled back and Sam whined, his face buried in the crook of his elbow. His stomach was shining with beads of sweat, and Lucifer ducked his mouth to a dip in Sam's abs, licking at the muscles. Sam groaned.

"You want to fuck me, I take it?" Sam moved his arm back to his forehead – his chest was heaving with his breaths, physically dragging himself back from the edge – but there was a smile on his face, like he had no objection at all to where it was going, even if he was denied his release for the time being.

"No," Lucifer sat back against his heels, hands trailing up Sam's sides, down his chest, then over his thighs. "I want you inside me. Just like the first time."

Sam huffed a laugh, hand finding Lucifer's hand to still it against his pounding heart. "I won't last long."

"I never do, either."

"You're not twenty-one anymore," Sam grinned, his heartbeat returning to a slower flutter; his long legs bent at the knees and pressed into Lucifer's side. He was already planning how he would flip them over on such a small bed.

"And fuck if you haven't filled out since you were eighteen," Lucifer grinned back, placing a hand low on Sam's stomach. "I remember when you were just a kid fighting in the basement of my Church. You were lanky and awkward. Look at you now."

Sam sat up, flexing the muscles in his stomach to do so. He hooked one of his arms around Lucifer's shoulder, an elbow behind his neck. The movement made them grind together, and Lucifer couldn't suppress the shudder.

"And look at you," Sam breathed. In one quick movement, Sam pushed at Lucifer, moving him to the side. The elder boy didn't fight it – he let Sam turn them around until his knees were spread with Sam's hips between them – and he let Sam lean over, sucking kisses on his collarbone. It would leave a mark, and if anyone saw them, they would know who made them. He belonged to Sam – he always had – and no matter what happened, he always would. Sam's fingers scratched at Lucifer's ribs, red lines burst to his skin from the hard press, but Lucifer just pressed himself into the other man's nails. "Look how you still respond to me."

"Always, Sam," Lucifer breathed. Sam was kissing down his chest, pausing at his nipple to run a flat tongue against it and Lucifer writhed under him. "Made for you, remember?'

Sam hummed his agreement and kissed lower.

Lucifer wasn't the only one who knew the body that had lain under him. Sam knew Lucifer enjoyed the marks – he liked the bruises from teeth, the nails raising his flesh with scratches – Lucifer liked the physical reminders in the morning. So when Sam licked a stripe up Lucifer, he made sure to grip his hip hard enough to bruise. Lucifer liked to be held down and taken advantage of, like the simple act of pleasing someone else was enough for him. It wasn't until Lucifer was biting at the back of his own wrist with one hand, the other tapping a small plastic bottle against Sam's hand to get his attention that Sam realized how close Lucifer was.

One cool, slick finger was enough for Lucifer to shut his eyes, heels digging into the mattress to try and lift himself up more, let himself be more accessible. Sam placed a kiss to the blond man's thigh, nuzzling for a moment before biting at the muscle. Lucifer cried out – a needy whine, the loudest he would get – before he took the skin of his wrist in his mouth a bit harder, giving him something else to concentrate on.

Lucifer had always relaxed easier to Sam than it ever was the other way around, and Sam wasn't sure if had to do with trust or lust, but it didn't matter to him right now. It only took a couple of minutes for Lucifer's knees to fall open further, a silent gesture that meant he was ready for another finger. With two inside, Sam started pressing and rubbing until he found what he was looking for.

Sam pushed himself up onto his knees, leaning over Lucifer even though the angle was awkward, so he could push the blond's arm away and press a kiss to Lucifer's lips. "You'll break the skin," Sam murmured, but Lucifer groaned.

"Don't care. Been too long."

"It hasn't been that long," Sam grinned, ducking lower to push his nose against Lucifer's throat.

"Too long," Lucifer insisted again, then fell silent. He didn't bring his hand back to his mouth to try and stifle the sounds, but Sam wasn't convinced that he wouldn't bite through his lip in an attempt to stay quiet.

Sam pulled his hand back, and Lucifer's sigh was so full of self-righteous fury it sounded more like it belonged more to the angel the man was named for than the man himself. Instead of the pain of a brother who beat him and cast him from his home and into the eternal damnation of hell, Lucifer made the sound in the brief pause between two and three fingers. When Sam pushed back in, it was like all was right in the world again.

Sam was on fire, but Lucifer's skin was cool to the touch when Sam pressed his forehead against the man's thigh. His sweat was evaporating in the hot July air, and the younger boy pressed kisses to any patch of skin he could reach.

It almost was like he was eighteen again; he sure as fuck wasn't going to last any longer than he did that first time, not the way Lucifer was vibrating apart underneath him anyway.

"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth…" Lucifer groaned out, and Sam raised his head to watch the man beneath him. For once, the blond's pale eyes were open – a hand burying itself in Sam's hair to make sure Sam wouldn't look away – as if he ever could. He was shining with sweat and the effort to stay whole while he was coming apart at the seams. The tremors raking through his body were beautiful, and it made Sam full of pride. He was the one making Lucifer tremble like that. It was him and nobody else. "…for thy love is better than wine."

"No Bible in bed, Lucifer," Sam grinned, but the goose bumps covering his body betrayed his words. "We agreed on that, remember?"

"Enter me, Sam," Lucifer was trying to push himself back onto the younger boy's fingers, and Sam swore his heart jumped a beat at Lucifer's words. "I need to know you again."

"Fuck," Sam groaned, pulling his fingers out long enough to slick himself, completely aware that Lucifer hadn't taken his eyes off him yet. He lined himself up with Lucifer, pressing just enough to judge the resistance. There was hardly any at all. Fuck. Sam leaned over Lucifer's body, propping himself up on an elbow just under Lucifer's armpit, the other still on himself. "Are you ready?"

"Sam," Lucifer whispered, hands dragging slowly through the taller man's hair. His pupils were dilated, his eyes were lidded, and his tongue pushed out, wetting his lips, anticipating the kiss he knew Sam would press down on him as he pressed in. He might have tried to say something else, but the only thing that came out was another, "Sam."

Sam pushed in – slow despite his desire to snap his hips to bury himself in the blond man – and dropped his other elbow to the other side, pressing a kiss to Lucifer's neck before changing the angle to press against his mouth. Sam swallowed Lucifer's groan and moved his arms so Lucifer's shoulders were resting on Sam's forearms, the taller man's hands fisted into the blond hair.

Lucifer's hands dropped to Sam's hips, fingernails digging in, trying to get him to start moving before he was even fully in him. Sam fought against him, trying to hold still and let him adjust, but Lucifer pushed his hands as low as they could on Sam's long body. He rocked down as he pulled Sam toward him, breathing out a small, beautiful chuckle, something that would upset lesser men. The younger man remembered their first time together when Lucifer had let out a bark of laughter and he had been offended. It wasn't until he was being taken the next morning that he realized why Lucifer had laughed.

This was what they had been afraid of? This was what they had been denying themselves for those years? It was beautiful, pleasurable, and the love was so evident that it seemed like a physical thing.

Sam couldn't hold back anymore, even though he knew he should.

They were chest to chest; Lucifer's legs were wrapped around Sam's thighs, ankles touching Sam's calves, trying to keep him close, and Sam's hands were in Lucifer's hair. There was barely a spot on them at all that didn't have some sort of contact, and that had always been one of the overwhelming things about taking Lucifer as his own. The man tried to consume Sam, like if he could only press close enough, the two of them could be one.

It didn't take long for them to grow frantic – slow, deep kisses turned hot and messy, then morphed again into a simple press of mouths together to share heavy breaths – when it was too impossible to focus on both the kissing and the friction. Sam shifted, resting his weight on one of his elbows so he could press a hand between their bodies. Lucifer whined against his lips, and their pace shifted to a sprint to the end of the race.

Sam knew it would be over soon, and normally he would try to hold on to the sensation and make it last, but he couldn't tonight. Lucifer was right, it had been too long.

It was Lucifer who came first, but when his body clenched, Sam wasn't far behind. He was trembling with his own release, barely able to keep himself from collapsing on the other man. Sam ended up pressing his forehead against the blond's shoulders, back heaving with desperate breaths. He could count his heartbeats in his throat – pounding faster than it did on his average morning run – and he let his hand drift up Lucifer's side then down his arm, pressing his thumb into the center of the star tattoo on his wrist.

The blond's heart was racing, too.

It didn't take long for Sam to move, rolling on his side next to the man and letting his eyes slide shut. He had to bend his knees to fit his whole body on the twin and lying side by side meant that he and Lucifer were pressed up against each other. Lucifer's face was buried in the crook of his arm for a long while – almost long enough for Sam to fall asleep – but when he felt the bed shift, his eyes snapped open. Lucifer was half off the bed, reaching for something on the floor. Sam grabbed for him instinctively, holding onto his hip to catch him and hold him up in case he started to fall.

A second later, Lucifer rolled back to Sam, using his own white t-shirt to clean himself, then the younger man. He had always used his own clothes to clean them, like the thought of tainting something of Sam's that way was blasphemous. When he tossed the shirt back over the edge of the bed, his eyes found Sam's in the dark. They were drooping with bliss and exhaustion, and Lucifer didn't bother redressing himself.

How many nights had they slept next to each other, Sam had wondered. He knew what Lucifer wanted. Sam rolled over, facing the wall, and instantly felt an arm wrapping over his waist. Lucifer's knees fit perfectly behind Sam's, his stomach to the taller man's back, his forehead pressed between Sam's shoulder blades.

The room was silent again, and Sam could hear the rain ticking against the window. Lucifer was compliant and relaxed behind him, but Sam still felt wired and nervous, like he expected to get caught. He always felt like that when he and Lucifer were together back in the Winchester house, and the thought of it made it hard to fall asleep. They should at least get dressed, just in case.

Sam felt a pair of lips press between his shoulder blades and heard Lucifer murmur, "I love you, Sam."

The younger Winchester closed his eyes and tugged the flat sheet over them so they were covered and Lucifer wouldn't get so cold in the night. "Yeah, I know," Sam whispered back, his hand resting over Lucifer's on his stomach. "I know you do."

* * *

Flesh and bone didn't really make a fantastic pillow objectively, Dean thought. Castiel was full of sharp angles – his collarbones and ribs stuck out of his chest when he laid on his back, his shoulder was bony and hard – but there was something so incredibly comfortable about waking up with Castiel's arm around his shoulder, and Dean's nose pressed against Castiel's throat that he didn't care about the logic. He just cared about the smell of him, the feel of his stomach beneath Dean's fingers, the way their legs wrapped together so it would be impossible for one to move without waking the other.

The sunlight was peeking through the blinds, one ray of light painted over their chests, bathing them in light in the otherwise dark room. Dean let his fingers trail up Castiel's stomach toward the ray, fingers moving along the raised flesh of the scars. He traced the circle and the symbol inside. He traced the designs under the circle along his stomach. It wasn't until the third time around the triangle above the circle that Castiel began to wake up.

His body tensed under Dean's, arms reached out over his head and legs untangling as his body shook and stretched the sleep away. Instead of moving away, Dean pressed a kiss over Castiel's collarbone and when he was done stretching, he resumed his arms around Dean and held him.

It was like the fight the night before had never occurred, and Dean wondered if Castiel had forgiven him or if he had just forgotten about it momentarily with the sleep.

"What time is it?" Castiel asked, voice so low it sent a spark of desire down Dean's spine. He ignored it, and instead, sat up to look at the clock.

"Eight."

"Fifteen more minutes," Castiel murmured, licking his lips. "Go make breakfast."

"It's your turn."

"You invited Anthony to our wedding. Turns don't matter anymore. Also, I'm taking you on our wedding night now. Exclusively."

Dean grinned against Castiel's chest. There was a difference between mildly annoyed but forgiven and angry and spiteful. Castiel had mostly forgiven him. "You can't hold that over my head the rest of our lives."

"Fine," Castiel opened his eyes, and blue met green. Castiel was smiling, he was still holding Dean close, and he reached up with the hand that wasn't wrapped around Dean's shoulders to brush through his hair, palm resting against Dean's temple. "Make me bacon and hash browns for breakfast and you're forgiven. No more holding it over your head."

"You're letting me off easy, Cas," Dean grinned.

"And I get to have you first," Castiel let his arm slip from around Dean and rolled so he was facing away, toward the sunlight. He drew the blanket over his shoulder. Dean sat up and he could see that Castiel's eyes were closed; he was going to doze for another fifteen minutes. "After your name becomes my name too."

"It's a deal," Dean pressed a quick kiss to the side of Castiel's neck. Unless he was mistaken, the action made the smaller man shutter. "I'll come get you when it's done."

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel said, and then he was out.

Dean grabbed his cell phone from the charger and threw on sweat pants and a shirt before leaving the room in the off chance that Sam made it up in time for his early morning run. Lucifer and Sam would likely get up every morning and jog past their old haunts, but never the first morning back in town. They thought they were sneaky – they thought Dean didn't know – but this house held memories for Dean, too. This town was home and that meant something.

If they thought they were quiet and didn't leave any marks, Dean wouldn't know. But Dean knew.

So he did what any older brother would do and he threw the door to Sam's room open loud enough to hit the book shelf behind the door with a loud crash. It was usually enough to wake them both up, but Sam was already taking up most of the bed. When the noise woke Lucifer, he jumped. He was already too close to the edge and his normal angry scowl turned into a yelp when he flailed for a gravity defying moment, before he fell from the bed and hit the ground.

He was so concerned about the fall that he didn't seem to care he was naked. Maybe he forgot.

Dean was laughing and Sam had this crazy look of half concern for his bedfellow's safety and an overwhelming desire to get Lucifer to cover himself. In the end, Sam threw a pillow down on Lucifer's lap before gathering up the flat sheet around himself. He stumbled out of bed, nearly exposing himself and tripping over Lucifer (who was now scrambling on the floor with a pillow on his lap, searching for some clothes) in the process of stalking over to Dean, likely to punch him.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Dean, what the hell?" Sam was shouting, and Dean almost came back with a line about being quiet because Castiel was trying to sleep. Lucifer managed to find his shorts, must be, because they were on when Dean looked around Sam's shoulder.

"I wish you were storming away indignantly right now. I would so Mycroft Holmes your ass in that sheet."

"I will kill you. You can't just do that to a person. This is still my room, Dean. You can't just…"

Dean yelled out, "I just wanted to let you know breakfast is in fifteen." He backed away and shut the door, taking off downstairs before Sam could come after him and beat him to death.

When Sam didn't turn up in the kitchen with a knife right away, the elder Winchester started with breakfast. He got the bacon from the fridge and the hash browns from the freezer. He actually had a good start to it before Sam sat down at the table, his head in his hands like he had a hangover. Maybe a shame hangover. A shame-over. Dean grinned and filed that away to tell Castiel later.

"So where's Luci?" Dean grinned, grabbing a cup from the cupboard and some orange juice from the fridge and pouring it for his brother. "Too humiliated to show his face to me again? That's gonna be awkward at the wedding."

"He told me to tell you, and I quote, 'I'm sorry that I've ruined your life because now that you've seen me, my little brother will never be able to measure up.' I told him you were going to deck him for it," Sam picked up the orange juice and took a big gulp, shooting a thankful look back to Dean.

The elder Winchester just laughed at the comment. "Weird, Jess started crying when I called her and told him you were cheating on her with Lucifer again..."

"Dean."

"... So I would expect a call from her demanding an explanation."

Sam sat his glass down carefully and let his head fall into his hands. "Can you please not bring up Jess again?"

"And why not? I happen to like Jess and I think what you're putting her through is terrible. I mean, she loves you so much and yet…"

"I've been with the same guy since I was sixteen, Dean. I'm so not interested in Jess. She's just my friend," Sam looked up when Dean put a plate in front of him. "I don't like the jokes."

"Well, duh Sam, obviously you're not interested in Jess. It wouldn't be funny if you hadn't been so rock solid with Lucifer for the past nine years. You've had like, what, one fight ever? And that was about your stupid class. Cas and I fight like that every week about something or other," Dean started walking toward the stairs so he could wake Castiel back up. "It wouldn't be funny if you didn't have a ring you were planning on springing on him. Now it's just hilarious. When are you going to pop the question anyway?"

"After your wedding," Sam grinned. "You think I want your bridezilla getting pissed because I stole his thunder? No way."

Dean laughed. "I'm going to tell him you called him that."

"This isn't bacon," Sam shot back over his shoulder.

"It's turkey bacon. It's better for you," Dean started climbing the stairs.

"Yeah and Cas doesn't eat pork. When did you get so whipped, Dean?" Sam called back up. "You gave up pork bacon for him?"

"Have you seen his ass? I'd give up a lot to keep that ass around," Dean called back from the top of the stairs. Hell, if he had to see Lucifer naked, Sam deserved a little bit of uncomfortable payback, right?

Lucifer was in the shower again – Dean swore to God the man lived in the bathroom since he wasn't afraid of his reflection anymore; he should remind Lucifer that pride was a sin – and Dean pushed the door open the master bedroom as quietly as he could. He might like waking his brother up with loud noises, but Castiel deserved better. And if Dean sat and watched the rise and fall of Castiel's chest for a moment before he placed a hand over his shoulder to wake him up, nobody had to know.

He had to remind himself that Castiel's food was still on the burner when the man turned to face him, stretching his body and arching his back, exposing his bare torso and throat to Dean. They had a lot of shit to get done today, and there would always be time for that later.

* * *

Everyone was showered and dressed but Dean, who was calling everyone who hadn't RSVP'd yet to see whether or not they were coming. Pretty much they knew who was and who wasn't, but it was just a formality. And a joke when Zachariah forgot to send his family's card back, and Dean ended up talking to Castiel's oldest brother for fifteen minutes about that girl who had been dominating Jeopardy for the past couple of weeks, even though Zachariah, Uriel, and Rafi's families had all gotten in that morning and were staying with Balthazar. Hell, even Jimmy was at Balthazar's. Castiel was itching to go see his family again once they sorted everything out for the wedding.

The look Lucifer shot Castiel was priceless when he asked, "Dean and Zach have something in common?"

Castiel smiled fondly at the back of Dean's head. "He talks to all of them pretty regularly. Sometimes he calls Uriel up just to talk to his girlfriend and see how she's doing. He talks to them more than I do."

Lucifer just hmmed, a small smile on his face. Dean started frowning, starting and aborting a few failed attempts at a sentence before he finally said, "Oh, yeah, hi, Mikey. What? You… well, he has a fucking phone, you know. Not like I was having a conversation or anything."

"Is that for me?" Lucifer grinned, pushing past Castiel to elbow Dean in the side. Dean tried to push the blond man off of him, but ended up on the floor with Lucifer's triumphant foot on his back and his phone up to his ears. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Mickey?"

Sam was laughing at the kitchen table as Castiel smacked his brother's leg to get it off of his fiancé. Eventually, he went for the back of the knee and Lucifer shot a pissy look at his brother before he removed himself from Dean. By the time Castiel had helped Dean up, Lucifer had hung up the phone and sat it back down on the table.

"Michael wants to watch a movie. The girls are all out shopping and I don't think our brothers and Jimmy know what to do with the kids," Lucifer said. "You wanna drop me off at Bale's before you go sort out the cake stuff?"

"Ugh," Castiel just put his face in his hands and nodded. By the time Lucifer had put his shoes on, Dean had called up the photographer and Sam was talking to someone about flowers. Lucifer had decidedly stayed out of most of the planning, which had been a blessing in its own right. But if the rumors were true, he was taking his duties as Castiel's best man very seriously. Every so often Balthazar or Gabriel would get a grin on their faces and giggle about the bachelor party Lucifer was planning. The girls were out getting supplies for him. Lucifer just gave Castiel an innocent look.

Then he shot Dean a knowing grin and asked, "Can I drive?"

Castiel actually laughed. After a few brief moments for goodbye – Castiel kissed Dean's forehead while Lucifer just gripped at Sam's wrist, thumb pressing into the center of the star tattoo before running upstairs to get his backpack – and then they were gone. Castiel's Volt drove like a dream and with the exception of Inias, Byron, and Dean, it was probably the thing he loved most in the world.

Or at least, he loved what it represented. Around the time they got engaged, Castiel got home from watching his nephew (who had just been born at the time) to find Dean sitting in the driveway with the car. Castiel never got a ring, but he did get a Chevrolet of his own.

A brand new, off-the-lot, electric Chevrolet in the perfect shade of dark blue.

The Crowley Mansion – er, _Chez Bae_ – was a twenty-minute walk from the Winchester home, but it was a five-minute drive if they hit the light. Pretty much the second Castiel pulled out of the driveway, Lucifer dug in his pocket for the box with the ring in it. He opened the box and shut it half a dozen times before they hit the one street light on the route.

"I don't know how to do it," Lucifer said, still staring down at the ring.

"I'm sure you do," Castiel grinned, gripping the wheel a little tighter as he waited for the light to change. "Otherwise Dean wouldn't have caught you naked this morning."

In his defense, Lucifer wasn't blushing. He just looked confused. "What?"

"It. Doing it. You don't know how to fornicate with your lover."

"Oh fuck you," Lucifer's face split into a grin. "One, don't call it fornicate. It makes it sound dirty…"

"It is dirty. You're having relations with a man outside of wedlock."

"… and so are you!"

"Yes, but I know how. To do it, I mean."

Lucifer groaned, hitting his head back against the seat in frustration. "You aren't cute when you try to be funny, Cassie. I don't care what Dean tells you."

"Dean thinks I'm adorable."

"And _two_ , I meant I don't know how to propose to Sam. And I know you know that's what I meant. I'm not the drop down on one knee type of guy, but I can't think of anything big enough. Everything I think of falls short, and he deserves perfection," Lucifer was looking back down at the ring again. Castiel sighed.

"He's going to say yes. You're not with the same person for nine years and then not marry him when he asks. Well, unless he has some bone to pick against the institution of marriage, but Sam doesn't have that. And he doesn't need some grandiose gesture. He'll say yes as long as he's asked," Castiel pulled into Balthazar's long driveway and put it in park. He turned to face his brother. "Don't freak out about it."

"Let me practice on you," Lucifer closed the box and shoved it back into his pocket. "Just… sometime when nobody's around let me try it out on you first."

Castiel let his eyes jump over his brother's face. He was serious, but there was a hint of mischief too. He took in the pale blue eyes and the wrinkles near his eyes when he was smiling and the short spikes of hair – not unlike Dean's – and Castiel rolled his eyes. "Fine, but I won't say yes if you do it publicly and you'll be embarrassed as hell."

"No, I won't, bro," Lucifer grinned. "I wonder how many free dinners we could get."

Castiel sighed and made a show of hitting the unlock button. Lucifer took a hint, grinned, and let himself out of the vehicle. Castiel was already starting to get a headache, and he hadn't even dealt with whatever the cake problem was yet. It was going to be a long week.

* * *

Cake crisis averted, Castiel decided to see what movie his brothers decided on. He pulled into the driveway, popped the latch of his seatbelt, and got out of his car. He didn't bother knocking on Balthazar's door – he was there so often he might as well have a room – and the first thing he noticed was that the foyer was a mess. There were a ton of boxes lining both sides of it, and Castiel took a step forward to see what was in them. Were they moving their house around?

But then he heard the singing from the living room, and to be honest, that room didn't look much better.

Crowley's grand piano stood in the back next to the window like it always had and always would. He had left it to Castiel after his mother had died, but it was too big to fit in the home he'd made with Dean. Well, that's what he told himself. There was more than enough space next to the bay window in the dining room and Dean was already talking about building on another room in the back. And there was the basement…

Instead, he couldn't have something so big, so expensive, something from Crowley in his house. Castiel loved that piano, but he loved teaching Byron on it more. He loved having it separate from Dean.

Right now, his piano was surrounded by Michael's drum set from high school, a handful of guitars and other string instruments, and a 3.3 octave glockenspiel he must have stolen from school.

His family, however, was sitting on the couch, watching the TV. Well, they weren't exactly watching the TV. They were really watching Michael and Lucifer.

Lucifer was wearing Balthazar's robe. It was red and green and tied loosely around his hips. Michael, on the other hand, had a pair of white gym shorts on and a white towel thrown over his head but lacked a shirt. The rest of Castiel's brothers were sitting on the ground before them, chanting the background lyrics to the song. Claire – Jimmy and Amelia's five-year-old daughter – was sitting in Gabriel's lap, and Samandriel – Zachariah and Rachel's six-year-old son – was sitting in his father's lap. Byron was only thirteen months old, his fingers buried in his mouth from where he sat between his father's legs. As soon as Castiel sat down, the youngest boy shifted, crawling onto his uncle's lap before turning back to face the show before him.

Michael was sitting on an armchair, Lucifer standing on the other side of the screen, but he was pointing at his twin with a sad look on his face as he sang along with the movie, _"Once, I called you brother. Once, I thought the chance to make you laugh was all I ever wanted. And even now, I wish that God had chose another. Serving as your foe on His behalf is the last thing that I wanted."_

The rest of the Novak brothers chanted the plagues. Gabriel gripped his little sister around the middle, breathing the words in her ear. She frowned, swatting at him, before a grin broke out on her face.

" _This was my home. All this pain and devastation, how it tortures me inside. All the innocent who suffer from you stubbornness and pride."_

Castiel turned to look behind him. Their father was the lone person on the couch. He had seen the family acting out _The Prince of Egypt_ before – it had been one of Michael's favorites growing up – but the roles were certainly different than they had ever been when the boys were growing up. Jimmy's eyes were wide, an unreadable expression written on his face. When Michael stood from his thrown, Castiel looked back to his brothers.

Michael stood in front of the TV, but it didn't matter. Nobody was watching the actual video. The older twin poked his blond brother's chest, face set in hard, unforgiving lines that made Castiel's heart race. He could remember with clarity when that was actually how Michael viewed Lucifer.

" _You who I called brother, how could you have come to hate me so? Is this what you wanted? Then let my heart be hardened and never mind how high the cost may grow. This will still be so: I will never let your people go."_

" _Thus saith the Lord."_

" _I will not let…"_

" _Let my people go!"_

"… _your people go."_

After the song ended, the scene behind the brothers went on as the DVD played on. But there was a pause in the actors playing their roles. Lucifer looked at Michael with the pain he could have recalled years ago, remembering how Michael had cast him out and alienated him from the life he had known. It was similar to Moses' pain – he did not want to harm his brother – he just wanted to be free.

It was Michael who broke character for just a moment. He placed his hands on his twin's face, fingers at the man's jawline, thumbs resting against Lucifer's cheekbones, and he drew him in. Their foreheads touched for just a moment – a declaration of love and a whispered apology – before they drew away and started getting to the next scene in the movie.

Behind him, Castiel heard a sniffle. The only one sitting behind him was their father.

* * *

After Castiel showed up, the girls got back from shopping. Then the Winchesters showed up, and there was a momentary pause after Ramses' son died so everyone could help put the groceries away and so everyone could settle back on the floor to watch the ending of the movie.

Jimmy was still in the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water when they started playing the movie again, and he could hear Rafi and Hester singing _"When You Believe"_ but he felt compelled to stay away. Even though Amelia was in there, sitting next to Gabriel and Claire, he hadn't felt at home with his sons since he left. They reminded him of their mother – each of them had the best qualities of her – and it was painful to be around them.

He missed Anna. He had missed her long before she died.

But he couldn't exactly hide in the kitchen all week.

There were so many of them – nine children, eight of them with wives or boyfriends or girlfriends, two grandchildren – and all twenty of them were in Balthazar's living room, sitting or singing together about miracles. Lucifer had dropped his head to Sam's shoulder, Michael sat between Hester's legs and leaned back into her, and Byron was sitting half over Dean and Castiel, not realizing that their hands were clasped behind him. Rafi was happy. Uriel was happy. Balthazar and Gabriel and Zachariah were happy.

And they were all happy without any real help or guidance from their father.

But Jimmy knew. He was never really the father of these children. Not really.

Gabriel pushed Claire to her feet, and she walked between Rafi and Hester and sang in Hebrew: _"Ashira l'adonai…"_

_I will sing to the Lord._

After Claire had sang by herself, Zachariah pushed Samandriel up to his feet, and he reached out to take his cousin's hand, dragging Byron to the middle of the room with him while the two of them sang. Even Byron knew the ending of the verse: _"Ashira, ashira, ashira."_

The second time it opened up for everyone. Gabriel stood, picking his younger sister up in his arms. Lucifer knelt down and let Samandriel on his back. Even Michael – who was supposed to be the pharaoh – picked up Byron and sang along with the makeshift set of Jews.

Kali, the pagan girl, stood and sang. Sam sang as he ran his fingers through Samandriel's hair, smoothing it down where it was sticking up. Castiel stood and held his hands down for Dean, dragging his fiancé up so the pair of them could sing with the rest of them.

Even Amelia stood and sang, and Balthazar grabbed her hand and started dancing with her.

All of them, all twenty members of the Novak family except for Jimmy, were standing in front of the TV, reaching their arms toward the heavens when they all sang the second: _"Ashira, ashira, ashira."_

There was a swell from them, Jimmy Novak's personal choir, when they all continued on with the song. And Jimmy didn't want to step forward. Joining them reminded him of his betrayal, reminded him of their mother, but he could remember when twenty was just eight. He could remember his boys singing this song, dancing around the living room with their mother.

He could remember Anna so perfectly.

So Jimmy walked forward, making the twenty into twenty-one by placing his hand between Dean's shoulder blades. The older Winchester turned and looped his arm around Jimmy's shoulders easily. One of Castiel's hands reached out, and he took hold of his father's.

" _There can be miracles when you believe. Though hope is frail, it's hard to kill. Who knows what miracles you can achieve when you believe? Somehow you will… now you will… you will when you believe."_

* * *

Once the movie was over, the out-of-towners went out for lunch and to cruise around and reminisce. Dean and Sam had something else they had to do for the wedding, leaving Gabriel, Kali, Michael, Lucifer, and Balthazar get on with the moving.

A couple of hours later Lucifer's decided to take a break from the heavy lifting and stood under the central air conditioning duct in the kitchen. Castiel and Hester had started dinner while the others moved the stuff Balthazar had been storing in the basement to the attic. Castiel had wanted to help, but Lucifer knew if he saw that they were cleaning out the basement, he'd realize something was up.

He already had little faith in Lucifer to plan the bachelor party, but it wasn't like he was alone in his endeavor. And who cared if it broke tradition? It was going to be fantastic. And Castiel was going to enjoy himself whether he liked it or not.

Byron had already woken up from his nap, and Hester had squeezed four not-so-subtle comments into the conversation about how she wanted to get married and have kids (with Michael) sometime. Michael was fantastic at having selective hearing, and if he noticed at all, he didn't let it show.

The big dinner was almost done cooking when Sam called. Lucifer answered, walking back into the kitchen to tell Castiel that the Winchesters were a needy bunch and that they could never go to long without seeing their angels, but Sam just said, _"We're hungry."_

"It's fantastic to hear from you too, sweetheart," Lucifer grinned, standing under a vent and raising his arms to try and dry the sweat that was practically rolling down his body before he put his shirt back on. He usually hated central cooling – the man got cold way too easily for that – but taking two flights of stairs with heavy boxes was sweaty business.

Castiel snorted from his perch on the barstool next to Byron at the counter. He had been sharing an apple he'd sliced with his nephew, teaching him the fine art of smothering the fruit in peanut butter. Castiel had taken a break from that to stare down at his phone with a twisted grin on his face. Lucifer just asked, "What?" because he knew Castiel would answer anyway.

"Anthony just played shaft in Words With Friends," Castiel's thumb dragged tiles across the screen, playing his next move. "If I had an 'n' I could have played anal."

"No wonder you were freaking out about Crowley coming for the wedding. I mean, kinky Words With Friends, really Cas? Isn't that like inviting your mistress over to dinner with your wife?"

Castiel turned and looked behind him with a really good imitation of one of Sam's bitchfaces plastered on his face. "Just put your damn shirt on and talk to your damn boyfriend."

"It's Hugo Boss," Lucifer hissed. Sam laughed on the other line. "I don't want to get it sweaty."

"It's plaid," Castiel said, frowning. He was looking over the shirt like he couldn't understand what was special about it. "Sam has like a thousand of them."

"This isn't just one of Sam's shirts, you moron. This one was a hundred and fifty dollars. Macklemore Winchester gets his at a thrift store if they ever had any in his size."

" _Hey,"_ Sam said on the other line, but he was laughing. _"Macklemore is actually really talented."_

"You hurt?" Byron asked, a glop of peanut butter falling from his apple slice when he held it out, gesturing toward Lucifer's shoulder.

Lucifer turned to look, puffing out his chest, and Castiel started laughing. Lucifer paled and rubbed his finger over the bruises just under his collarbone. "Yeah. Uncle Sammy hurt me."

" _No, I didn't. Did I? How?"_

"No nice," Byron said, biting into the apple. Castiel just nodded like he was agreeing with his nephew.

"Byron asked me about the hickeys. Nobody else mentioned them before. Guess they're used to it."

" _Put your shirt back on!"_

"Why would we care about your hickeys? I know what you two get up to," Castiel said. "But on the other hand, one time Michael had a white shirt on and some scratches on his back bled through them."

"Castiel," Hester squeaked, flushing, throwing a wooden spoon at him. Castiel dodged, laughing, but it hit him in the shoulder. "Can we please not talk about this at the dinner table in front of Byron?"

"If you wish," Castiel tilted his head, looking back at Hester. "But you should feel blessed, not ashamed."

"It's not shame. It's embarrassment," she was still red, arms folded in front of her. "It's private, that's all."

"Would you like me to share something private as compensation?"

"We already know the unholy things you do to Dean. Fuck Mickey's scratches, sometimes Dean can't walk," Lucifer said. "Poor guy."

" _Lucifer, for the love of God, stop it. We're hungry and you're making me lose my appetite."_

"And the rest of your life is sort of an open book," Hester said, shrugging. "We know your past. What could possibly embarrass you now?"

"Sometimes I cry when I think that Mary Winchester will never get to see her grandchildren and because Lucifer and I are both male, I fear the Winchester bloodline will never carry on," Castiel dipped an apple slice into peanut butter so he could avoid looking at any of them. "I'm not against adoption, but I would prefer if we could find a surrogate."

" _What's going on?"_ Sam asked. _"What're they saying?"_

"Nothing," Lucifer whispered, throwing his shirt over his shoulders and buttoning it up. He walked over, leaning into Castiel's space. "What do you want for dinner?"

" _We want Friendly's. Dean wants a patty melt, and I want a citrus grilled chicken sandwich without mayo. You two can order something too or get something somewhere else if you want."_

"Sure thing. I'll call it in and we'll be there in like half an hour," Lucifer said. Hester was leaning over the counter to whisper to Castiel. Byron was rubbing his arm like he understood paternity and linage and could sympathize with his uncle. Lucifer wrapped his arm around Castiel's neck, half hugging him from behind. "Love you, Sammy."

" _Love you too. See you soon."_

When Lucifer pocketed his phone, he looked up and Hester was smiling at him. "You say love you every time you say goodbye?"

"They won't say goodbye," Castiel leaned back, resting his back against his brother. "Because it's never goodbye forever."

"You give me cavities," Hester said. "Too sweet."

"Dean knows you want a surrogate, right, Cas?" Lucifer asked.

"Yes, of course he does. But are you aware what that costs through an agency? Between all the hospital bills and paying the woman it would be somewhere around sixty thousand dollars. We can't afford that. We'll never be able to afford that. It would be one thing if we could find someone without the agency and use artificial insemination instead of in-vitro fertilization, but…" Castiel pushed the rest of the apple slices toward his nephew. "I would like chicken fingers, please."

"This discussion isn't over," the older Novak said, pulling out his phone to order their food.

They left soon after that to go pick it up and take it home. Pretty much the second Castiel started the car, he turned the music on and Lucifer could take the hint. They had enough going on planning a wedding and a child wasn't a sure thing right away. Of course, Lucifer knew that Castiel's bookmarks were filled with adoption sites and surrogate laws, but he wasn't one to judge. Last time he borrowed Sam's computer and the browser crashed and he had to find his page again, Sam's internet history was filled with dog rescue sites.

If Lucifer went out and tried to find a place that would let him make a ring the next day, then that was just a coincidence. Their apartment didn't allow for pets and Sam would be graduating law school in a year, and he was already looking at jobs back toward Kansas. It would be dumb to switch apartments now and break the lease, but they never really talked about what would happen after graduation. But Lucifer had always known what he wanted to do. He wanted to buy a house so Sam could have a dog as much as Castiel wanted to raise a child that had Dean's blood flowing through its veins.

But now the ring felt heavy to carry around. He wasn't planning on popping the question soon – he wasn't that big of an asshole to take away from his brother's wedding with an engagement of his own – but he wanted to do it before classes started again. It gave him about a month, and he had no idea how he was going to go about doing it.

How do you surprise someone after you've been with them for nine years?

It didn't take long until they were at Friendly's. Lucifer paid, he always did. Then the brothers leaned against the carry out counter waiting for their food in silence. He imagined the younger Novak was thinking about a way to find a girl they trusted to agree to carry Dean's baby for nine months. And Lucifer was still trying to figure out how he was going to ask Sam to marry him when his eye caught the ice cream cakes in freezer.

Then he got an idea. An awful idea. Lucifer got a wonderful, awful idea.

"Um, Castiel?" Lucifer moved his arm so his elbow was resting on the counter, his forearm brushing up against his brother's. Most of the Novaks were touchy-feely, and Castiel didn't think anything of it. He didn't really react to his full name, either, except to turn and look at his brother. "Do you remember the first time we came here?"

"Uh…" Castiel looked around.

"We had our first date here eight years ago, do you remember that sweetie?" Lucifer said, just a little bit louder. A handful of the patrons close to them started to look, and a few of the cooks poked their heads out to see the commotion. "It was the day you confessed your attraction to me for the first time, and I was hesitant at first, but it's been eight wonderful years and…"

Castiel gripped his brother's wrist, a furious blush creeping up his neck. Lucifer knew he hated attention being drawn to him in any situation. His eyes were wide, begging Lucifer to stop. He even whispered, "No, not here," but beggars weren't choosers, after all.

"So I wanted to bring you back here to ask you this question," Lucifer dropped to one knee. He could feel Castiel's mortification spilling into his body when he took the hand that had been gripping his wrist. Luckily, he seemed too shocked to actually respond other than to shake his head. It would be worth the ass kicking later. He took out Sam's ring and opened the box. "Will you marry me?"

He could see the _no_ forming on Castiel's tongue, and he looked around. He knew his brother would too. There were a ton of people watching them with various degrees of support. It was still Kansas, after all, but there were certainly more smiles than there would have been when they were teenagers. He saw Castiel looking at their expectant faces – their happy, supportive smiles – and even the handful of assholes who were frowning and muttering about the sanctity of marriage.

Castiel said he would turn him down, and he might have too, if he didn't feel like he had something to prove to the bigots. So Castiel took Sam's ring, but he didn't put it on his finger. Instead, he clenched it in his hand and didn't really answer either way.

If anyone thought it was weird when they hugged instead of kissed after the engagement, they didn't say it. They were mostly just clapping. And Lucifer wouldn't mention the way Castiel was trembling in his arms, nor the sigh of relief that escaped him when the people started returning to their seats.

"Here's your meal. No charge," the waitress grinned up at them.

"We already paid," Castiel was still shaking; Lucifer would almost feel bad if he didn't guess what was coming next.

"Take one of the cakes then. Free of charge. Congratulations."

In the parking lot, Castiel gave the ring back, but no words were spoken on the way back home. It didn't matter that his younger brother was ignoring him, either, because when they walked in with the food, Lucifer was hailed as a sultan.

"Fuck yeah, I love these things," Dean said, grabbing the boxed cake and carrying it to the kitchen. Castiel took it away from him and put it in the freezer so he couldn't try and sneak a slice before dinner. He got his food out of the Styrofoam container and dumped it on a plate. "What's the occasion?"

"Obviously the future wedding," Lucifer said, throwing a wink at his brother.

Castiel just marched into the living room with his plate and his face red. "I want to watch the van Gogh episode of Doctor Who, Dean. Would you please grab it for me?"

Dean looked from Castiel to Lucifer and back to the empty space where Castiel wasn't because he was fuming on the couch with his dinner. He turned to look at Lucifer. "What happened?"

"We just had a really magical moment in the restaurant," Lucifer grinned. "Don't worry about it."

* * *

The Volt was quiet, so I didn't hear it pull into the driveway, but I could hear the music blaring from the open windows. From my spot at the kitchen table, I could see the blue car drive up out the bay window. I could see Lucifer gesturing wildly (he would call it dancing) in the passenger seat. Castiel was grinning out of the windshield when he killed the engine. After a few seconds, Dean was stomping toward the driver's side door. I couldn't hear him yelling over the music, but the complaining was really just an excuse to open Castiel's door for him, which he did.

Lucifer had to open his by himself and carry the sheet pizza and dozen wings in his brother and brother-in-law's house by himself. Castiel stepped out of the driver side and let his husband shut the door and was pretty much instantly pressed against the car, caught between the door and Dean's solid body. They were too close to be just talking, but Lucifer burst through the garage door into his face, throwing an easy, carefree grin in my direction before setting the pizza box down on the counter.

"So are you fixing the end of my story?" Lucifer asked, pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head.

"Calm down, John Shooter, it isn't your story," Sam grinned, leaning back against the chair and lifting his arms, stretching the kinks from his back. I pushed Sam's MacBook away from me, trying to shake and rub the cramp from my hand at the same time. It didn't really work. "I think we had a satisfactory ending, all things considered. Let the readers think I'm virtuous and waited until marriage."

"We waited until you were eighteen. Fuck, if we had waited until marriage we would have been married years ago," Lucifer leaned over the table, trying to read my notes. "Not a month ago."

"How was the honeymoon?" I asked.

"Fine," Lucifer turned the MacBook so he could read it easier. He leaned over. The necklace he had gotten as a wedding present was dangling down between the open space. It was silver, a small set of angel wings as the pendant. "Toured the Vatican with beads in my ass. The Pope blessed like ten rosaries for my dad and brothers and sisters and he didn't have a clue. I chatted him up about how we were all named for angels. Don't know what upset him most though: telling him my name or when Sam wrapped his arm around my hips when we were leaving. How's Gabe?"

My mouth opened and closed a few times, like a fish gasping for breath, but Sam just laughed, then saved me. "Don't bait the author, Luce. He can change our happy ending on us."

"No, he can't. I still got the ring, don't I?" He pushed the MacBook back and sat up. "You feed Bones yet?"

"No, I've been here all night. I'll go do it. I should probably take him on a walk too."

"I got it," Lucifer kissed Sam's forehead; nearly knocking into Castiel and Dean as they walked in when he walked out. Castiel was flushed, tucking his pendant back under his shirt after Dean must have pulled it out. "I'm bringing him over."

"Like hell you are," Dean yelled. "He'll chase Inny."

"They're cousins, Dean. They should learn to get along," Sam said.

"They're pets, not people. They're not cousins," Castiel frowned. Dean made a break for the food on the counter as Lucifer left, but Castiel shook his head. "Bela called and asked if they could come over to show us something. I think Byron lost his tooth, finally. He fell three days ago and the tooth's been all wiggly since then. She told me to call Gabriel and get him over here, too. But you can do that, can't you?"

I sighed. "He's two and a half, Cas. He isn't losing baby teeth yet. He probably doesn't even have them all. Gabriel is not going to care anyway." But I pulled out my phone and dialed my roommate nonetheless.

"Then ask him if he wants pizza. Oh, and we saw Jo at the pizzeria," Castiel turned his body to face his husband, but his head was angled down, looking at his chest. He looked embarrassed, and I couldn't help but smile. "She was picking up something for Dad, Ellen, Bobby, and Jody. But I… I asked her if she'd like to have lunch with us."

"So you just happened to run into Jo at the pizzeria or you stalked her there?" Dean teased, lifting a hand to place on Castiel's shoulder. "I think you gotta leave her alone for a bit, Cas."

"Even if I do, she accepted. I hope you don't mind."

"Course I don't mind," Dean rubbed his thumb against his husband's collarbone. "I just don't want her to get pissed at us or anything. And she totally will, you know? She has self-respect."

"She's fine, Dean," Sam said. "She's actually pretty happy with Castiel's attention. She's moving into a new place next month, which I know you know about cause she called you the manual labor when I asked her how she was going to do that. She's going back to school, too."

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but my roommate answered his phone with a sleepy noise. "Uh, hey, Gabe. It's me."

" _I know, bro. Cell phones have these things called contacts and since I've saved your number back when we became roommates freaking_ years _ago, I decided to add your number to my contacts. What do you need?"_

"I'm at Cas' and he wants to know if you want pizza," the line went dead. I put my phone down and looked up at my friends. "Yeah, he'll be here in ten."

"Good," Sam said. "We've got some time. So, Cas, why don't you sit down and tell us about seeing Crowley again for the wedding."

A year ago, he would have grimaced. Hell, even a few months ago he would have winced and stalled and been uncomfortable. It all changed four months ago in May when everything was finally all worked out. He would still slip back from time to time, but since the moment Jo started helping them out, nothing about his past had mattered much to Castiel. For once, he was able to look toward his future.

Now, he just sat down and nodded. He shot a small smile at Dean and started.

* * *

Castiel wasn't standing at the baggage carousel this time. He was sitting some fifty feet from the carousel with his leg jostling up and down, hands buried in his hair, fingers searching for abnormalities on his scalp. He couldn't find any recent scabs – damn the Thorazine for doing what it was supposed to – but it didn't mean he couldn't latch his nails into his skin and make some wounds. He figured he had a pretty good red spot on his head (he certainly wasn't close to breaking the skin yet) when Dean sat down next to him.

He expected Dean to tug his hands away, but he just placed his hand high on Castiel's thigh. The smaller man flinched, dropping his hands to push Dean's hand a respectable distance toward his knee. It wasn't until their hands were folded together that Castiel realized his future husband had got him to stop without actually forcing him to do anything. He just played on his modesty.

He just could have used more time to come to terms with the fact Crowley would be there. If only he could have sent someone else to get him, but he couldn't exactly ask Lucifer or Balthazar to get Crowley.

He knew because he already asked and they wouldn't go. Crowley was his friend and his responsibility.

When he looked over, Dean was resting against the seat, eyes closed and freckles standing out under the florescent lights. He didn't look nervous. He didn't look angry or threatened, and maybe Castiel had been overreacting with the whole Crowley thing.

"I love you," Castiel murmured, knocking his knee against Dean's.

Dean's eyes slid open, a toothy grin spread out on his face. "Sure am glad to hear that, since we're getting married in less than a week."

"It's because I love you that I want to apologize," Castiel turned his attention to their hands. His fingers were pale compared to Dean – he'd spent a lot of the summer doing minor repairs on the Impala in the sun – and the other man's hands were rough. Castiel's fingers were calloused from the guitar, but it was completely different from the way Dean's were. His fiancé's hands were strong, and Castiel gripped him tight to keep from slipping.

"You don't need to. Nothing's gonna happen, Cas. I don't know why you think it would, but you're not giving either one of you much credit."

"What do you mean either one of us?" Castiel frowned.

"Crowley's got somebody, too, you know? Even if you threw yourself at him, who's to say he'd take you back?" Dean grinned. He was baiting Castiel – basically challenging him to seduce his old lover – and Castiel didn't like where this conversation was headed. Dean's dares had gotten him into trouble in the past. They were too stubborn, too old, to be playing these games anymore.

"You took me back, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but I'm an idiot," Dean grinned. "And I'm not Crowley."

Castiel untangled his hand from Dean's, resting his palm against his fiancé's knee. He dragged his hand up the man's thigh. Dean's breath caught, green eyes finding Castiel's and holding the gaze. "You think? If I dropped to my knees in front of Anthony, he would present himself same as you would now. Same as you would have then, too."

"You think you're that good?" Dean asked, voice dropping. Castiel's palm rested over the Impala's keys in Dean's pocket, thumb rubbing at the side of Dean's thigh.

"I know I am."

"What a welcoming," an accented voice called. Crowley had managed to walk up to them without them noticing – which really wasn't much of a surprise considering – and he set his suitcase down on top of the rolling case. He rubbed his hand, looking down at the couple and smiled.

"Anthony," Castiel breathed, standing. He reached out, hesitating for only a moment before placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. A second later, Crowley gathered Castiel in his arms, grinning as he hugged him.

"And look at you, angel. Getting married. About damn time, if I say so myself," Crowley held him at arm's length, looking him over, patting at his sides and chest. "I'm gonna have to adjust your suit. I made it too big."

Behind him, a blond man was dropping his luggage as well. His hair was longer than the rest of the men – maybe as long as Sam's hair had been in college – and it was layered and fluffy looking. He had on nice pants, a dress shirt, and a blue tie tucked into an argyle sweater vest. He had blue eyes, lighter blue like Lucifer's, and he had glasses. His face was soft, and if the man smiled more often, he would seem approachable and friendly. He had the temperament of an owner of a shop who didn't want anyone to buy anything so he hovered and made customers uncomfortable, so they'd leave without taking any of his merchandise from him.

Castiel dropped his hand from Crowley and stuck one out. The man took Castiel's in both of his, offering a tired smile as they shook hands. "It's good to see you again, Phil."

"Always a pleasure, Castiel."

"Phale, you remember Dean?" Crowley said, stepping back and gesturing to the other man.

"Still calling you Phale?" Dean asked, grinning and offering his hand. Phil took it, rolling his eyes in Crowley's general direction.

"He thinks he's cute and clever."

"I _am_ cute and clever," Crowley said, picking up one of his bags and forcing it into Castiel's arms. The younger man didn't seem to mind. "Plus it's your fault my dog doesn't respond to his proper name. At least my partner indulges my crazy fanboy heart."

"Or you went looking for your angel and actually found him," Castiel added, offering a small smile. "The similarities are uncanny."

Phil offered another knowing smile before Dean reached out to take one of his bags. He seemed hesitant at first to accept the help, but eventually handed it over, and they followed the man to his Impala. With the bags in the trunk, the Brits in the back, and Dean and Castiel up front, they set off.

Dean drove them to the hotel to drop off their luggage, but Crowley had insisted on a fitting right away so he could have the next few days until the wedding to get them right. Apparently the last time they were in town, Sam had promised to take Phil for ice cream. Castiel didn't even know the two of them were that close, but then again, pretty much anyone who knew Sam was close to him. He had the stunning ability to make anyone feel like a best friend.

Of course, they had the added benefit of being total bookworms.

Actually, Phil was a pretty awesome guy, too. As long as you didn't try to take his books.

As soon as Dean opened the door to his house, the four of them were assaulted with music. Lucifer was sitting with his legs crossed on the floor. He'd shut the air conditioner off so it was pushing eighty even though it was seven at night. He had borrowed one of Michael's classroom's violins, a mandolin, and a cello. The mandolin was sitting in front of him, the cello resting against table, the violin was cradled to his stomach like a guitar, and he was picking notes and strumming chords like it was a guitar.

His eyes were closed, but he definitely heard them come in. He didn't care, he kept singing anyway: _"Come down off the cross, we could use the wood. Come on up to the house."_

When he started singing the chorus – and Sam was singing along, loudly, from the kitchen – he moved the violin to his shoulder and started using the bow again. _"The world is not my home; I'm just passing through. Come on up to the house."_ His torso swayed with the violin solo, fingers dancing over the string. He leaned into notes, facial features mirroring the sound coming from the instrument. When the note sounded bluesy and rough – but deliberately so – his eyebrows furrowed, during long pulls with trills his eyebrows relaxed, and when his fingers flew over the strings in a quick semi-scale his eyebrows rose like he was trying to open his eyes as wide as he could to see everything at once.

The solo ended when Sam started singing the second verse from the kitchen, and Lucifer put down the violin. He picked up the mandolin, then grinned up at them. "They're here, Sam."

"Oh," Sam called from the kitchen. The water shut off and he came walking out, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Castiel could only imagine what the pair of them were like at their apartment. When Lucifer started playing, he could get manic with it – going for hours and hours without breaks to eat or rest – and Castiel wondered if Sam would do housework around him or if he would nag him and try to get him to eat. When he turned the corner, Sam let out a huge grin, letting his long legs carry him faster toward the door. "Phil, it's awesome to see you again."

Phil smiled, clasping both of his hands around Sam's, and nodding his head just slightly. The pair of them started in instantly, talking about some obscure manuscript from the Middle Ages, and Lucifer was back to plucking away at his mandolin. Dean asked, "Want anything to drink, Crowley?"

"You're offering me a drink?" Crowley asked, setting his suitcase down on the couch. He opened it carefully, pulling out an expensive looking suit, looking over the creases it had because of the folds. "I can get something for myself. You don't have to wait on me."

"I would like some tea, please, Dean," Castiel said, toeing off his shoes at the door. Dean grinned and walked to the kitchen, rolling his eyes. Castiel heard the water running, and when he looked out, he could see that the older Winchester had put the kettle on, then paused at the table to pet Inias. Unless he was very much mistaken, Dean was hunched over, murmuring to the cat, and Castiel couldn't help the smile that bloomed on his face.

"Here, angel," Crowley was pushing clothes at him, and Castiel had to turn around and take them. "You put these on while I dig Dean's out."

"Did you bring my dress?" Lucifer asked from the floor, looking up to grin at the pair of them.

Crowley smirked, pulling another suit jacket and pair of pants from his case before pulling out a blue halter top dress and tossing it to the blond. Lucifer stood, pushing the mandolin into Castiel's already full hands before holding the dress up to himself. It was the same one that Castiel's bridesmaids would be wearing.

"Lucifer, no," Castiel frowned; the panic was already seeping into his voice. "I love you, and I respect and enjoy your affinity for drag, but..."

"Dude, I'm your Man of Honor. I need to look fabulous," Lucifer looked up, grinning at Castiel before throwing a wink at Sam. "You don't mind walking down the aisle with me in a dress, do you, Sammy?"

"You're wearing a tux," Castiel said. "I thought… You already have your tux."

"Yeah, and you didn't know Crowley made your suits until yesterday, so I wouldn't trust what you think you know."

Crowley took the mandolin off the pile of clothing in Castiel's arms and gave him a serious look. He patted the small of his friend's back and nodded toward the stairs. "Go and get dressed, angel."

With one more pleading look at Lucifer, Castiel marched up the stairs and started changing into the clothes he would be wearing at his wedding. It took him longer than he would have expected, and he was sweating by the end of it. When he pulled his vest on over his shirt, he heard the air conditioning kick back on. Once he was suited up, he couldn't help but catch his reflection in the mirror.

He wasn't the drug addicted teenager he had been in high school. He had just started his PhD program. He was getting married. Nothing could stop that from happening. Nothing would throw off his plans. But either way, he tried to tame down his hair before he walked back downstairs.

It was silent, and that was the first hint that something was wrong. The mandolin was abandoned on the coffee table, and nobody was in sight. After a second, Crowley walked out of the kitchen with a cup of tea in his hands, and Castiel breathed in.

They had left.

They had left him alone with Crowley.

"I made you a cup too," Crowley said, nodding toward the kitchen. "But you aren't touching it until the suit's off."

"I have to eat in it at the wedding," Castiel said, ignoring his friend when he sat down the cup on a stand and reached out to him. Crowley undid the suit jacket with swift fingers, and Castiel shut his eyes.

"It is my understanding that the groom never eats at the wedding. A bite of cake, maybe. A glass of wine," Crowley started in on the vest, then he popped the collar of the shirt, untying the tie. "Christ, angel. I should have remembered you don't know how to dress yourself. Other than that, does everything seem to fit? Nothing's too tight, right?"

Castiel's heart was pounding by the time Crowley retied the tie, adjusting the shirt underneath before he buttoned the vest back up, tugging the hem of it lower so it was straight. The sleeves were a bit long, but everything else seemed to fit. The tailor was murmuring to himself about how the jacket could have been a bit tighter. His fingers poked and prodded, bunched the material up and asked questions. He wrote things down in a small notebook, and he politely ignored Castiel's wide eyes and soft breaths.

Because Dean was right. Crowley had Phil, and Crowley loved Phil as much as Castiel loved Dean. Crowley wouldn't start anything, even with Castiel's body moving to his every touch and suggestion. But it didn't make it any better. It might have been nine years, but Castiel had only ever been with two men. He could remember how much he had cared for his dealer when they were strung out on his bed. He could remember how much he used him and hit him and cursed at him when times were bad.

"Are your pants too tight?" Crowley asked, looping his finger through a belt loop and pulling it out. Castiel swayed with the pull, then shook his head.

"Are they too long?" Castiel asked, lifting a knee. They were. He knew they were, but Crowley just looked up at his friend and smiled.

"Look at you wanting me on my knees," Crowley said, grinning as he lowered himself to the floor, tugging Castiel's pants so they weren't riding up. He measured how much he'd have to hem them before sitting back on his heels, looking up at his friend. Castiel was blushing, he knew he was and knew he couldn't fight it, but Crowley just laughed. "You can change back into your pauper clothes."

Castiel held down his hand to help his friend to his feet. Crowley took it, and Castiel pulled him up. "You're wearing jeans and a hoodie."

"I make a ton of money," Crowley grinned. "I can wear what I want."

Their hands were still palm to palm, and the British man bit his lip, adjusting their fingers so they were threaded together. Castiel reached up with his free hand, pushing his hand through the short spikes of his friend's hair. Crowley smiled, closed his eyes, and pressed into the hand. "You look happy, Anthony."

"I am, love," Crowley opened his eyes, free hand cupping around Castiel's elbow, thumb pressing against the vein where Castiel used to shoot himself full of heroin. "Never thought I'd be happy being a tailor. Fuck, I never thought I'd ever really get off the drugs. I kept going back to them, you know, long after you quit. Been four years now."

"I remember," Castiel smiled. "You quit when Phil agreed to go out with you."

"Nah, angel, you got it backwards. He agreed to go out with me if I quit. We got lucky, you and me. And I didn't know that until recently. We'da killed each other. Maybe we'd have overdosed in the dead of night, if we're lucky. We could've run out of drugs and beaten each other to death. The house could've burned down around us and we'd have just laid there," Crowley held Castiel out at arm's length, looking him over in his suit. He smiled. "But look at us now. Dean Winchester invited me to your wedding, and I'm not just stealing someone else's angel… I've got my own now. I never thought we'd get here. I never thought I'd be happy like this."

"You deserve every happiness."

"And you do too, Castiel. And I don't think you think that you do," Crowley let go, and Castiel did too. They stood in front of each other, but still too close. "You're marrying fucking Dean Winchester, angel. You're gonna raise little Winchesters in this house. You two'll see your kids get married, see your grandkids get married, and I would bet money on the pair of you'll die together of old age in your sleep like Noah and that girl from the _Notebook._ You don't have time to regret the past, Castiel, or you'll miss your future."

"Thank you," Castiel whispered, tugging his hand and wrapping his arms around his friend. They held each other for a long moment, Crowley smoothing circles on the taller man's back, before he finally backed again and grinned.

"Go on, then. Get changed. I got you a little gift. Not for the wedding or anything… just a small thing."

Castiel raised his eyebrow before turning away from him. Crowley had given him _small things_ over the years. Usually those things were expensive jackets and sweaters. Expensive watches, sunglasses, and instruments. Crowley's definition of something small was not the same as Castiel's definition.

"Oi," Crowley called up the stairs, after him. "I really mean it this time. It was free."

* * *

Dean was tuning them out. It was pretty much impossible to understand Sam when he was in full-out nerd mode, and Dean only understood half the shit Phil was ever saying. He was formally a librarian, but Dean wouldn't be surprised if the dude had a PhD in biblical history because damn did that dude love old copies of the Bible. He could read Hebrew _and_ Greek and sometimes the way he spoke about it made it seem like he was really there with the angels defending Eden to make sure Adam and Eve didn't sneak back in.

And Sam was just a nerd with his big, excited puppy dog eyes and his enthusiastic nodding.

The topic would usually interest Lucifer, but there were only a handful of things he loved more than vanilla ice cream. And one of those things was vanilla ice cream with bits of crushed up Oreos. So Dean just looked out the window, licking at his ice cream cone.

He saw Castiel running up with a picture frame in his hands. Crowley was chasing after him, laughing. Dean pointed out of the window. "Ten bucks says Castiel misinterpreted the fitting for a grope and he's running up to apologize."

"I'll take that bet," Sam said, turning to face the window.

"Twenty bucks says Castiel breaks up with you because Crowley got him the best present ever, just like he gets every time his BFF comes across the pond for a visit," Lucifer said, shooting a grin at Dean before turning to Phil.

The British man grinned. "I wouldn't take that bet. It isn't safe."

"So you know what it is?" Lucifer asked.

"Of course I know," Phil scooped some of his ice cream out of the bowl. "Ant sucks at keeping secrets."

"So it is a gift?" Dean asked, digging out his wallet. "Fuck."

The bell rang when Castiel pushed open the front door. There was a split second where the dark haired man looked around for his family before he hurried toward them, pushing Dean further into the booth (squishing him up against Lucifer), before sitting down, holding the picture frame to his chest. Dean looked over his shoulder when the bell rang again. Crowley met his look, rolled his eyes, and went to the counter to order some ice cream.

Dean handed Sam the ten bucks, "So what'd he get you?" Castiel laid the picture frame flat on the table, and Dean ran his hand through his hair. "Aw, fuck no."

It was a photograph of Benedict Cumberbatch with long, dark, curly hair, sitting in a couch with his hands steepled under his chin like Sherlock. It was signed, of course, but it was signed to _The Angel Castiel_ and just before he signed his name, Benedict had written _I'm on your side._

"Fuck," Dean said again.

Lucifer sneered, dropped his voice and added an accent, "How ordinary."

Sam laughed at Lucifer, and Crowley pushed in next to Phil and slid a bowl of ice cream across the table toward Castiel. The dark haired man put the picture frame to his chest to protect it and leaned over the table to eat his ice cream. Dean was still shaking his head. With the exception of the whole sleeping with his boyfriend for money, this was the second worst thing Crowley had ever done to him.

And he would never forgive him for this.

* * *

When Lucifer took off after Sam on their morning jog, he really thought they were going for a random run. Sam took off toward the school – their usual path – but once he let Lucifer in front of him to pick the turns, Lucifer realized that he had a destination in mind. When he slowed to a walk in front of the old church behind the school where he had lived for several months his senior year, Sam stopped behind him, even though both of them could run 5K without stopping.

The younger man reached behind his shoulder blades to peel his shirt off his torso, using the material to wipe at the sweat at his forehead. Lucifer put his hands on his hips, chest heaving with breaths, looking up at the building. After nine years it was the same – the same symbols painted over the building, the same words from Dante's Inferno written over the door – and Lucifer wasn't sure if his chest was beating so quickly because of the running or because it was the first time he had looked at the building since he graduated high school.

"Think it still has running water?" Sam asked. "I could use a drink if you want to go in."

"The past should stay in the past," Lucifer said, but he walked forward anyway, kneeling before the rosebush in front of the church. In July, roses had already passed their bloom period, but even without Lucifer's careful attention, two flowers still bloomed. He reached a hand out, using the pad of his finger to separate the petals, examining the blossom. When Sam walked up to him, his frame casted Lucifer in shadows, and the blond man looked up. The sun was blocked by his huge boyfriend, but the rays behind him spread out, obstructing the background from view like a painting. "I doubt there is running water, but there is a drinking fountain behind the school. I… Could you bring me back a cup?"

"Yeah," Sam said, already making his way into the Church. He was out again in seconds, a glass in his hands. He left his shirt on the ground next to Lucifer and ran off in the direction of the water fountain. Once he was out of sight, Lucifer ripped the two remaining roses at the stems, picked up Sam's shirt and walked inside the Church.

In the big, main room that had been where his television was set up and the kids had trained to fight, Lucifer was blown away by how clean everything looked. Nothing looked like it was covered in nine years of dust. Everything was gone from the living room; all of his stuff had been moved into the Novak house while he was still in Grace.

He checked all the drawers in the kitchen. There were forks and spoons but no knives – Castiel had gotten rid of them while Lucifer was still living there – and there were expired bottles of aspirin and band-aids but no left over prescription bottles. They'd probably been cleaned out while he was in Grace, too.

He walked into the other room, the one with the bathroom he had cut himself in, and just like everything else, there was no trace of any trauma happening here. The floors, the sink, everything was spotless. A forensic specialist wouldn't be able to lift any of his DNA from this scene.

But the sanctuary was a little bit different.

That attempt at killing himself around Thanksgiving had been cleaned by his brother using cloth and water, not bleach and mops and elbow grease. There were just small spots where it had soaked into the pores in the concrete, spotting and streaking along Castiel's rushed clean job. There was a faint outline of the angel banishment symbol Lucifer had created still resting on the altar.

He wondered, not for the first time, if his delusions were shared with Castiel because they were related or because Castiel had seen the symbol and it stuck and warped in his own mind. If Lucifer hadn't drawn it that night, would Castiel have it scarred onto his chest?

He dropped the hand that didn't have the two roses on top of the altar, looking up at the crucifix hanging on the wall. The Jesus hanging there was full of pain and anguished, immortalized up there, dying for humanity. The angel he was named for had refused to bow down and love humanity, and this man – this other son of God – had loved his Father and trusted him so much that he allowed himself to die, having faith that he would be able to return home after all the pain and suffering was over.

Lucifer could feel it now, just like he couldn't feel it then, crackling through him like electricity. He could feel so alive some days, like his weak body couldn't contain the power that surged within him. It was like lightning flashing outside, thunder rolling overhead, and Lucifer raised his chin, letting his eyes slide close.

" _The warmth of your warm embrace melts my frostbitten spirit,"_ Lucifer quoted the song aloud, but he didn't sing the words. _"You speak the truth and I hear it. The words are 'I love you,' and I have to believe in you."_

The blond man stood there for a moment longer before walking back to the sanctuary door. Before he left, he rested his hand on the doorframe, bowing his head. "Thank you for him," he whispered, feeling his chest ache with his words.

It wasn't much later that Sam found Lucifer in the place that used to be his bedroom, leaning against the wall, looking down at the cheap mattress with a strange mix of fondness and disgust. The roses were still held loosely in his left hand, his wrist turned out, exposing the star tattoo. When Sam came in, the man didn't look at his boyfriend, so Sam walked through his vision to sit the glass of water on the stand next to the bed.

When he turned back to look at Lucifer, he grinned.

Once, Lucifer had splashed paint over the wall he was leaning against. His handprints and the drops of paint had run down to look like feathers. The wings spread out wide over the wall, and with Lucifer leaning against the center, they looked like they were shadows of wings jutting from his back. Sam's smile twisted into a grin, and Lucifer turned his head to look at the man. He reached out his hand, holding the two roses out to him. Sam took them and put them in the glass of water.

"You look pretty badass, you know?"

Lucifer grinned, and Sam felt goose bumps rise over his arms. The blond man looked badass, without a doubt, but he also looked pretty terrifying with the grin. "I know. I forgot that I even painted this. I waited to look at the catacombs for you. I wanted to share it with you because…"

"We had our first kiss there," Sam said, nodding. He reached out his hand and Lucifer took it. When Sam pulled Lucifer away, the paint stood on the wall, and Lucifer was not the terrifying angel anymore. "I kissed you after I won that last fight."

Lucifer flipped the light switch and the light bulb over the devil's trap snapped to life. "Huh, I guess someone is still keeping this place attached to the grid," the man said. The pair of them walked to the center of the ring.

Sam could remember getting punched here – being beaten to the ground – but never losing. He remembered fighting, and not because he wanted to be the boy king, the next in line to control Lucifer's gang. He was fighting to prove himself to Lucifer. If he happened to inherit the club and turn it into a Youth Center after Lucifer left to go to college, then so be it.

But Lucifer could remember watching Sam fight here. Every punch the boy took was a punch to Lucifer too. Because they were connected. They were two halves made whole. Lucifer felt the ring box in his pocket and wanted to drop to his knee right here. This was where they shared their first kiss, but it didn't begin here… not really.

Lucifer took his hand out of his pocket.

It wasn't until he looked back up that he heard Sam was humming. The taller man was turning back to him, a smile on his face, and Lucifer's frowned, reaching an arm out to grip his boyfriend's bicep. "What song is that?" He asked, but he knew. And his heart was beating in his chest.

"Red Sam by Flyleaf," Sam said, shrugging. "I don't know. I was walking back over here and all of the sudden it just popped into my head. It's weird. I haven't heard that song in years, but…"

Lucifer removed his hand from the bigger boy's bicep and instead let it slide behind Sam's neck. The blond man tugged him down, and stood on his toes, crashing his mouth against his boyfriend's.

* * *

Castiel was sitting on the front porch swing when Sam and Lucifer returned from their morning jog. His knees were bent and his legs were folded under him, swinging too high on the poor thing like the oscillation brought him some sort of comfort.

Lucifer sat down on the steps, but Sam sat on the banister in front of Castiel, letting one of his impossibly long legs rest along the railing so he could stretch it. Castiel slowed down so he wouldn't hit his friend and took his earbuds out of his ears.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked.

"Lunch date with his best friend," Castiel replied.

"Benny?"

"No, he hasn't gotten in yet."

"Garth?"

"No, his other one."

Sam smiled, and they didn't keep on guessing. Lucifer laid back against the wood of the porch, arm draped over his face like he was dying. It was an exceptionally hot day already, but Lucifer was never one to get overheated. His chest was heaving with deep breaths, and Castiel watched him calm down.

Sam nodded his head across the street. "They're selling that house? Don't tell me Fred Jones died."

Castiel shook his head. "He can't take care of himself anymore. Barely talks. People have been coming in to help him but now that he's in the wheelchair, he can't really get around much anymore. They moved him into Sunset Fields Retirement Home. Dean brought him a pie, but he doesn't really recognize anyone much anymore."

"How long ago did that happen? Nobody's bid on it, yet?" Sam asked. Lucifer moved his hand away from his eyes. His boyfriend had his back to him, but Castiel shot his brother a look when he sat up, looking over at the house.

"I'm not a real estate agent," Castiel said. "But I haven't seen anyone look at it."

"I loved that house when I was a kid. Mr. Jones had these rosebushes out front and early in the summer, he'd let me help him tend to it. They were totally beautiful in front of the house, too. It was stunning. People used to come from all over the street to take pictures of them. After we worked, he'd make some lemonade and we'd watch cartoons in the air conditioning."

"He still loves those cartoons," Castiel said. "He is a nice man."

"Hey, you wanna go peek in the windows, Cas?" Sam asked, pushing his legs over to the far side of the banister. He pushed himself off, landing easily in the grass. The dude was so tall his feet probably practically touched anyway. "Damn, I haven't been in there since I was in high school, but it was a beautiful house…"

Castiel's dismount from the swing was also practiced. He walked down the steps and past his brother, who had his cell phone out and in his hands. "Are you coming, Lucifer?"

"Nah," he said. "I've got to take a shower."

Sam accepted that answer – he was already halfway across the street – but Castiel turned to look at his brother once more. Lucifer was standing up, his back to the others, and as he opened the front door, Castiel heard him say, "Hello, yes. Actually, I think I'm interested in one of your houses…"

* * *

Gabriel was sitting in the usual spot at the diner. His back was resting against the window, legs stretched over the rest of the booth. His head was tilted up, arm covering his eyes; the fingers of his other hand were tapping out a beat.

"Rough night?"

Gabriel moved his arm and opened his eyes. Dean was grinning at him, scooting himself into the other side of the booth. Gabriel watched as his friend opened the napkin that was wrapped around his silverware. With the fork and knife resting on the placemat, Dean tucked the napkin into the collar of his shirt. God forbid he got syrup on his Zeppelin tee.

"Drinking with the roomie," Gabriel said. His eyes felt like they were watering. His hangover felt more like a sinus headache or a stuffy nose. The pressure of it was making his eyes water. "Dude can drink me way under the table."

"Where was Kali?" Dean asked, grabbing the menu, even though he knew what he was getting.

"I dunno. Out living her life. I don't control her," Gabriel took a sip of his water. "I think she was with Bela and Rafi and Jo."

"So, did you get him drunk enough for him to sleep with you this time?"

"Am I here with your sorry ass?" Gabriel smiled. "Trust me, if I bedded him, I'd have called Kali then canceled our date to have the threesome that has literally kept me awake at night since high school."

"Aw," Dean said, setting the menu aside. "I thought these Tuesday pancake breakfasts meant something to you."

"You know they do, Dean-o, but they mean so much more to me in the summer when I don't have to be at a damn diner at six am to get breakfast before work."

By that time, the waitress had asked for their order, but they ordered the same thing every week and she pretty much knew what it would be. Gabriel would get chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream, and Dean would get apple pancakes with maple syrup. They spent the time waiting for their food practically screaming about the douchebag modder they'd got stuck playing against on Live a few days ago.

Once their pancakes got there, they ate in silence for a few minutes. Gabriel could put away twice the pancakes Dean could, despite their size difference. He could do it twice as fast, too. Soon enough, Gabriel started talking around mouthfuls of food. "Everything all set for the wedding?"

Dean had the decency to chew and swallow first. "I fucking hope so, cause if something falls through now, Cas'll kill me."

"Speaking of brother dearest," Gabriel licked some whipped cream from his fork. "How is he enjoying Anthony?"

"Christ, Gabe. Let me just straight up apologize to you because watching the two of them dance around each other is probably only half as painful as it was watching me and him dance around each other," Dean grinned. "And you had to do that the two years we weren't dating."

Gabriel made an exaggerated groan, "Damn right you two were annoying. You know we had bets going? All sorts of them. Who was going to just get frustrated and jump the other first? Who had the worst case of blue balls? And neither of you helped each other. If Castiel wasn't over at your house, you were watching him and Sam play soccer or pretending to hang out with me…"

"Oh, go fuck yourself. I totally hung out with you."

"Yeah, you hung out with me in the living room and played video games until Cassie would get home. Then you'd basically be humping the bathroom door when he showered or following him around, offering to help him cook dinner," Gabriel smirked. "I was your replacement Novak. I was always your replacement Novak."

"Bullshit," Dean said. "I have always treated you the same way I would treat my own little brother."

"Hey," Gabriel shoved in the last bite of pancake into his mouth, looking up at his friend with a thoughtful expression. "You know what. On Saturday, we really will be brothers."

Dean knew that. Of course he'd known that. Castiel referred to all of his siblings' significant others as his sisters and brothers, even if they weren't married yet. Dean was close to a lot of Castiel's brothers – they treated him like family, and he treated them the same – but none of them had ever said it out loud before. Gabriel looked younger saying it. His eyebrows had jumped up his forehead, leaving an open, childish look on the man's face, like he was afraid of what Dean could say to that.

But Dean just smiled and looked down at his pancakes. "Yeah. I guess we really will be."

* * *

It was Wednesday night, and Kevin could hear the screaming already when he walked up on the porch. He spared a look at Channing, but she looked just as nervous as he felt. She wiped her hands on her pants and offered him a shaky smile. "What do you think it'll be like?" She asked.

"I don't know," Kevin said. "Teachers are regular people, you know? So probably normal. Mr. Winchester said he lived here when he was a kid, so it can't be too crazy, right? If he let his brother live here?"

Channing shrugged, and then nodded toward the door. Kevin knew he should knock. It was an unassuming door – an unassuming house in an unassuming neighborhood – and he knew Mr. Winchester. He had been in his class last year and next year he was taking the course Mr. Winchester taught for college credit. He even knew Mr. Novak because he was always helping on the trips Mr. Winchester took, and he often came to their bi-monthly LARPing sessions.

Kevin wouldn't have even known they were together if Mr. Winchester didn't have a picture of the both of them sitting on his desk. Channing said she knew the first time she saw them together. She said Mr. Winchester lit up when his fiancé walked into the room. And once she pointed it out, Kevin could totally see it.

They were totally a loving, normal couple. But Mr. Winchester was still his teacher and knocking on his door still seemed weird, even if he was expected.

It was Channing who ended up knocking, and all of ten seconds later, Mr. Novak opened the door with a one-year-old blond boy in his arms. Behind him, there was a six-year-old boy with brown hair running away from a five-year-old blonde girl. Mr. Winchester had an angry looking four-year-old girl in his arms, and Kevin took a huge breath in.

He could do this. He could totally watch four kids for a couple of hours.

And never mind that his teacher and his partner were apparently having a contest to see who could wear the tightest shirt without ripping it apart by making small movements. Kevin was just going to try his hardest not to think about the men having an actual life.

"Good evening, Kevin. Channing," Mr. Novak said, stepping inside and holding the door open. Kevin and Channing stepped over the threshold, and Mr. Winchester grinned at them. "Thank you for offering to watch the children tonight."

"It's no problem, Mr. Novak," Channing said, leaning forward to coo at the kid in the man's arms. The blond boy smiled and buried his head in Mr. Novak's chest. It looked less like he was shy and more like he was flirting, but Kevin might have been reading into it a bit. "What's his name?"

"Byron," Mr. Novak bounced the boy, and when he turned to face Channing, Byron opened his arms and let the girl take him. Channing made all sorts of gooey maternal noises at the child. "We will be at his father's house tonight. Balthazar, my brother. His number is on the refrigerator if you need to reach any of the parents, they will all be at the Bachelor party."

"You're having your party together?" Channing asked. "Isn't that supposed to be your last hurrah or something?"

Dean walked up to them, passing the girl to Kevin. Neither of them seemed very happy about Kevin holding her. She started wiggling instantly, but Kevin held her, afraid to let her down if Mr. Winchester wanted her up. "Our brothers are morons."

"They haven't told us anything, but they aren't exactly the best secret keepers," Mr. Novak added.

"Plus, Sammy left his computer open. They're trying to recreate when we first got together," Mr. Winchester shrugged, but he was smiling. And Kevin could tell that he was secretly pleased.

"You were high school sweethearts?" Channing pressed, possibly looking at their teacher and his fiancé with more simple adoration than she had at the children. "That's so adorable."

Mr. Winchester smirked, looking over at Mr. Novak. The dark haired man looked down, but the teacher looked pleased. "Sweethearts is a good word for it."

"Anyway," Mr. Novak said, trying to wave away the discussion before they could talk more about it. "You're holding Casey, Kevin. She is our friends' daughter. The other boy," Castiel pointed to the kids running around the living room, "is my brother Zach's kid. His name is Samandriel but he'll likely answer to Alfie. Don't ask. The blonde girl is my younger sister, Claire."

"Your sister?" Kevin asked, but then bit his tongue, realizing it was impolite.

"Yes. My mother died when I was in high school. My father remarried after my youngest brother graduated. My father always loved children."

"Just not when they grow up, right, Cas?" Mr. Winchester said, smirking yet again. Mr. Novak ignored him.

"John and Ellen should be here around eleven."

"Here's the money," Mr. Winchester said, shoving a handful of folded bills toward his student. "Order pizza or whatever if you want. The kids already ate, but there's, like, apples and stuff if they get hungry. Do me a favor. Don't go into our bedroom. Just straight up trust me on that. And if we somehow manage to wander home and we're drunk, I'll give you an extra twenty bucks if you call Sammy and never mention it to anyone else. I wrote his number next to everyone else's on the fridge."

Kevin knew he was red – his neck felt way too hot to be from the July air – and Channing was blushing furiously. Just like he never really thought about their home (which was totally perfectly ordinary), he had never really thought about his teacher drinking. Which was really stupid, obviously, because he was old enough to drink and going to his own bachelor party. In the end he just nodded. Mr. Winchester grinned, clapped a hand against Kevin's shoulder and said, "Good man. LARP's postponed next week on account of the wedding, but see you in August?"

"Uh, yes, Mr. Winchester. See you in August."

"Does that mean you'll be Mr. Winchester, too, next time we see you, Mr. Novak?" Channing asked, a smile forming on her face again.

The dark haired man nodded and looked at his fiancé. "Yes, I will be."

"Congratulations, then," she said. And they responded with their thanks.

There was a car horn blaring outside, and Mr. Novak leaned forward to look out of the window. "Balthazar sent a limo."

"Your brother does have flair for the dramatic," Mr. Winchester said, shrugging, but Kevin saw that the man was grinning. Kevin only saw his teacher get this excited two other times: when they started reading _Cat's Cradle_ and when Mr. Novak stopped in to give a lecture in the other Mr. Novak (the band teacher's) class and had gone to the English classroom after to eat lunch with Mr. Winchester. Kevin couldn't help but smile, hoping his teacher had a good time at the party.

After they had said goodbye to the children – Claire and Samandriel ending theirs with "I love you. God bless," Byron clung to Mr. Winchester and wouldn't let go, and Casey finally worked her way out of Kevin's arms to play with the two older kids – the adults left, leaving Kevin and Channing playing house with four children under the age of six. For a split second, Kevin thought everything would go alright. The older kids were playing quietly, and Byron was clinging to Channing's leg, tears in his eyes, whimpering Mr. Winchester's name over and over.

But then Claire jumped on Casey and yelled, "The power of Christ compels you!" The younger girl writhed on the floor, trying to kick the blond girl off of her, but Samandriel kneeled above her head and held her arms down while Claire made a cross over her chest.

Channing's mouth was dropped open in a silent scream, and Kevin ran over, trying to pull Claire and Samandriel off of Casey. Once the younger girl was free, she sat up, throwing Kevin a glare like he was ruining their game. "What are you guys playing?" Kevin asked, trying for casual, but sounding about as freaked out as someone who just witnessed a five year old giving an exorcism to a slightly younger girl.

"She is a demon," Claire explained. "And Alfie's an angel."

"What does that make you?" Channing asked, picking up Byron with shaky hands.

"Obviously I'm the hunter."

"Oh, dear God," Channing whispered. And that really set the tone for the rest of the night.

* * *

The limo had two boxes in the back, one labeled _Dean_ and the other _Cas._ The men opened their gifts – because who would honestly wait when they had nobody telling them not to – and pulled out an assortment of things. Dean had a black Sharpie, a card in an envelope, and a printed piece of paper folded up. Castiel also had a card and a piece of paper, but his third object was a baggie of assorted pills. He held it up in his hand, separating them, trying to identify what they were.

Four Ibuprofen, two One-a-Day Men's multivitamins, and his Thorazine. Castiel rolled his eyes and opened his card.

_Nine years ago, you managed to seduce Dean Winchester (go you! I'd have bet money he was straight!) and he invited you to the Senior Sign-In. I have it on good authority (Sam said you weren't very quiet when you came in making out that night) that this was the night you and Dean officially pushed past maybe-we're-bros into I-want-your-tongue-in-my-mouth, so we trace this back to your official start as a couple. And since it was a pretty good party (with the exception of my arm getting broken) we figured we would re-live the start of your relationship with you. So here are some pills – go crazy, I got them from your medicine cabinet – and try and remember what you did that day and do it all over again. If you forgot what happened, Sam and I (and everyone else) put together a schedule. So you should probably start by letting Dean sign you (and go ahead and sign him, too! All the couples are dual-signed this time.) then walking from our old house to Crowley's Mansion._

_Enjoy Cas. See you there,_

_Luci_

Castiel turned to Dean, who was grinning at his card, and said, "He gave me drugs."

"Yeah, freaking vitamins," Dean smiled, opening the schedule and scanning it. "As memory serves, this actually sort of accurate."

"I don't remember a lot of it the first time around," Castiel admitted.

"Don't worry. I got you," Dean pocketed the schedule and ripped the cap off the Sharpie. "You remember where I signed you that night?"

Castiel smiled, holding up his right arm, pantomiming a wave. Dean held his wrist still, writing the four letters in his name down Castiel's arm. Just like it had the first night, the tag went halfway to Castiel's elbow. When he was done, Dean passed the sharpie to his partner and held up his arm so their names would be matching.

The dark haired man grinned and shook his head. "Take your shirt off."

"C'mon, Cas. I don't want to walk around with my shirt off all night. I won't be able to control the girlies when they jump me, and I hate being objectified."

"No, you don't," Castiel said, pushing Dean's left t-shirt sleeve up his arm until it bunched under his armpit and over his shoulder. Dean held it there when Castiel put his right hand over Dean's left shoulder. He traced the palm print, adding his name at the bottom with small, sure letters. He leaned back to observe his work and capped the marker, putting it back in the box. Dean was trying to look at it, but he couldn't really see without a mirror. In the end, he pulled his sleeve back down. The bottom of Castiel's palm and his name were the only things visible from under the shirt.

Castiel could tell that Dean was thinking about asking, but he didn't. Instead, he offered a smile and said, "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel just nodded and smiled.

* * *

Sam burst in the front door of the Winchester's house about two minutes after Dean and Castiel left – he knew, he'd been waiting out back for them to leave – and Kevin looked overwhelmed already. Samandriel, Claire, and Casey were playing that exorcist game they liked and both of the teenagers were watching from the couch, looking vaguely horrified.

Kevin turned to look at Sam when he walked in, and Sam held up the key to let the boy know how he got in.

"Is this normal for them?"

"Oh yeah. I wouldn't be surprised if Jimmy and Zach were teaching their kids how to exorcise demons. They're crazy religious," He walked over to the kids, tapping Samandriel's shoulder. "Hey, can't you guys play something else?"

"Hey, Uncle Sammy," Samandriel grinned, abandoning the game to hold his arms up to the taller man. Sam grinned and picked the boy up.

"Hi, little Sammy," Sam smoothed the boy's hair back. Sam was one of the only ones to still call him by his name – or a variation thereof – (the only other two being Zachariah and Castiel) after Lucifer decided that the boy's first name was bigger than he was. His middle name was Alfred, so Alfie it was until he got big enough to actually pronounce his own first name. He could say it now, but the nickname died hard. Plus, he liked it. It wasn't doing any harm to anyone but Zachariah. "Claire, you hear me? No demons tonight, okay? Maybe Kevin and Channing will watch Brave with you. You wanna watch Brave?"

"Where's Lucifer?" Casey asked, knocking Claire off of her as she sat up. Claire abandoned the mission and walked to the teenagers on the couch, debating between whose lap she was going to sit on. Eventually she climbed onto Kevin and reached over to hold Byron's hand. She looked up at Channing to tell her that the younger boy was her nephew, and Channing – bless her heart – acted like it was a surprise to hear.

Sam sat Samandriel down next to Kevin on the couch, then grabbed for Casey. "He'll be coming to get me in a minute, but you'll have to wave to him from the window, okay? I'll tell him you're watching."

"I love him," Casey insisted, and Sam just shook his head with a smile on his face. Sam kind of wondered if they had a shrine to Lucifer in their house, but quickly dismissed the thought because he seriously, seriously did not want to know.

Then there was a beep out front, and Casey dodged Sam to run to the window. Sam followed her. It wasn't the 1926 Bentley – she was over in London right now – but it was Crowley's rental car. With no Bentleys or Jaguars on the market to choose from, he picked the only British car they had. It was kind of hilarious, seeing Lucifer waiting inside a Mini Cooper, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Alright, kids, you listen to Kevin and Channing, okay? I'm going to ask them tomorrow if you were good and if you were, I'll take you out for ice cream, but you have to do everything they say, alright?"

"Good night, Sammy!" Samandriel called, and Claire and Byron waved from the couch.

Casey clung to Sam's leg. "Tell Lucifer to wave."

"I will, baby girl, don't you worry about it," Sam said, and with a final round of goodbyes, he left the house. He slid into the car and buckled his seatbelt – a luxury the Bentley didn't have – and said, "Wave to Casey or she's going to murder me in my sleep."

Lucifer leaned over Sam to wave at the silhouetted figure of the little girl in the window. She pressed her hand against the glass before disappearing into the house and, swear to God, Sam got goose bumps. "Damn, she looks just like Ruby but you can tell she's always with Lilith."

"I think she'll be in Lilith's pre-school class this year."

"She's getting old," Sam grinned. "We're getting old."

Lucifer just hit play, and _Queen_ filled the car. Sam leaned back and grinned, turning his head to look at his boyfriend. He had on his white track jacket and a blue tie, just like he did that day, but now the black shirt really was Armani. And somehow, that made Sam happy. Lucifer could afford the clothes he'd always wanted – even if his parents had been rich at one point and he could have then, too – but the fact that Lucifer took pleasure in the material things he could get them made Sam happy. On occasion, he would wear the expensive clothes that Lucifer bought him. He didn't think the shirt Lucifer had laid out on the bed this morning was all that expensive except it was nearly identical to the one he wore last time but bigger. But, of course, it was still so tight Sam was worried about hulking out when he breathed. The shirt might have cost some money to have someone make it again for him, and Sam didn't want to rip it because of that.

And also because that would mean he'd have to go shirtless, and he wasn't really fond of that.

The streetlights danced over the dashboard, and Sam let his eyes fall to his wrist. Lucifer had drawn three lines past the star tattoo and written his name under it, just like he had all those years ago. And who would have thought that they started with this party too. As much as tonight was a celebration of their brothers, Sam traced their origins back to this party too.

Lucifer turned the wheel with his palm as he pulled into driveway of the party. The garage door opened, and he slowly parked the car inside the protective barrier. By the time he killed the engine, Crowley was at the door.

They weren't glaring like they had been before. Instead, Crowley had a scotch in one hand and his other in his pocket. There was a smile on his face, his eyelids already heavy with alcohol. Lucifer wasn't giving a suitcase of drugs to the ex-dealer this time, so he just grinned and said, "What's up, Tony?"

Crowley didn't even wince at the nickname. "I gotta make sure you're both signed in before you're allowed into the house."

"Ain't your house," Lucifer said, but he nodded toward Sam. Sam showed Crowley his arm, and the British man nodded, turning his attention back to Lucifer. The blond man unbuttoned the top three buttons and tugged the shirt apart, exposing his chest. The three letters over his chest were small marks among the hickeys and scratches, and while Sam flushed, the other two men didn't.

Crowley stepped aside to allow them entrance and grinned, "Well, Lucifer Novak and Sam Winchester, I am Anthony Crowley and I am at your service. Welcome to Hell."

* * *

The limo let them out at the old Novak house. There were a couple of kids with their hands and faces pressed up against the window, wondering why two men were crawling out of the back in front of their house. Castiel put the drugs in his pocket and nodded toward the back of the house.

The kids' eyes followed them to the back yard, watching as the two men walked into the woods behind the house. Once they entered the shelter of the trees, Castiel reached out and took Dean's hand, lacing their fingers in the warm summer air. After they climbed the hill, they broke the barrier of trees and stood on top of the hill, looking down at Balthazar's house.

"Wow," Dean breathed. "They were certainly dedicated to the reenactment."

And Castiel saw he was right. The big lights were back, illuminating a patch of grass near the pool which was the dance floor. The bodies were grinding together – looking older than the teenagers had been – but they danced with no less vigor. The first time, Castiel had led the charge down the hill, but this time, Dean got them going with a little tug, but they walked side-by-side.

Like last time, Castiel stayed glued to Dean's side. He let his partner get him a drink. Eventually, he dug out the baggie full of pills. He saw the grin Dean was trying to hide behind the red solo cup when he put an Ibuprofen and vitamin in his mouth and washed them down with the alcohol.

A strange thing happened then. Ten minutes later, Castiel's knees were jostling, keeping his feet dancing on the deck. He held out a hand and it was trembling. He took a deep breath in, digging the pills back out of his pocket. He swore they weren't hard drugs. His brother wouldn't do that to him… he had been clean for so long…

"You okay, Cas?" Dean murmured, close at his side.

It was different from the Adderall and ecstasy. It really was. But at the same time, it had been years and he probably had an amazingly low tolerance for drugs these days. It couldn't have been anything illegal. But still, the tremors were familiar. His heart rate was increasing. His eyes were wide and he felt hyper. He felt Dean chuckle behind him, and he turned to face his fiancé.

"What was it?"

"Five hour energy. It was in my written instructions. I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't taken one before, but you said they don't count," Dean pressed a hesitant kiss over Castiel's shoulder.

"Taking energy shots for recreational use is still abuse," Castiel frowned, but he exhaled, glad that it wasn't anything more serious. "Those are for performance purposes."

"Tell you what," Dean put his hand over Castiel's hip and pulled them together. "We'll make a break for a spare room later so that you can perform and there'll be no abuse then, right?"

Castiel just rolled his eyes. "I think I'm supposed to dance now. Would you like to join me?"

"According to my schedule, I'm supposed to get hammered and watch you dance like a wanton dandy for an hour or so," Dean grinned. Castiel's eyes weren't dull, and he wasn't drugged out, but he was still vibrating with the rush. Castiel didn't even drink coffee or soda. It was going to get crazy if they kept feeding him energy drinks all night.

"See you in an hour then," Castiel said, pressing a kiss against Dean's lips. Which, of course, resulted in Dean opening his mouth and tightening his grip at his hips.

Castiel wasn't sure how long they were kissing on Balthazar's deck, but he was grabbed by the arm and a couple of girls were laughing in his ear. When Dean leaned back, Castiel wanted to kiss him again, but just rested his forehead on his shoulder instead.

"You need to dance, Cassie," Bela said, wrapping her arm around his and pulling him away from Dean. "We're going for authenticity here."

"You weren't dancing with me back then," Castiel said, but let her pull him away. "And Kali and Rafi weren't even here at all last time."

Kali and Rafi frowned at Castiel. The younger girl wrapped her arm around Castiel's other arm, and Rafi led the way to the dance floor, waving a hand at Dean before parting the crowd for the other three.

Dean didn't feel alone when Castiel shot pathetic, desperate looks at him all the way to the dance floor. But he knew he was supposed to down his drink and sulk. He downed his drink, anyway.

* * *

Sam had told Dean he'd been at the party when Lucifer had cut himself and wound up in the hospital. He was actually impressed that Dean hadn't known that he'd been there. The fact that Castiel had never told on him filled Sam with such a friendship high that he knew he could trust his brother's boyfriend as a friend first. And to Sam, Castiel wasn't Dean's boyfriend. He was Sam's friend who just _happened_ to be with his big brother.

Anyway, Dean knew that Sam had been there, but he was still trying to remain out of sight for the sake of authenticity. So he watched Dean standing by the makeshift bar, grinning out over the dance floor, watching his fiancé dancing with his family among a crowd of people he either didn't know or hadn't seen since high school.

Okay, Dean shouldn't be smiling, but Lucifer and Sam couldn't control everything, could they?

"What do you want?" Lucifer asked Sam, leaning against the railing, his right hand in his jacket pocket. It had been there for the past hour, and Sam wondered what he had.

He didn't ask. It was probably just a pack of gum and thought about going into the whole _Dean can't know I'm here_ tirade, but in the end he just said, "Whatever is fine. Are you drinking tonight?"

"I'm supposed to be watching him to make sure he doesn't take something. You know, make sure the alcohol doesn't fuck with the pills and he starts seeing mom again or anything," Lucifer shrugged. "But I want to. It's gonna suck being the only sober one at the party."

"I know our dads aren't drinking. My dad has to watch the kids at eleven, and he's around here somewhere. We'll tell Cas to go to him if anything happens," Sam shrugged. "Or I can drink enough for both of us."

Lucifer bit his lip, eyes shifting from the side of the house to Dean, debating. "I don't know, cause I really want to drink, but you're a fantastic lay when you're drunk. You just lay there and scream for me."

"Plus," Sam said, ignoring Lucifer. "Dean doesn't drink like he used to. If he's drinking and Cas isn't, he doesn't want Cas to have to take him to bed and clean up his puke. If they're both drinking – and they do both drink without your supervision, sometimes – then he never drinks as hard because he's watching out for him. Seriously, just ask Dean if it's okay if you drink a bit, and ask him to ask Cas to go to my dad if something happens. And _you_ go to my dad if something happens, okay?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

"I'm hiding," Sam said. "He's not supposed to know I'm here, remember?"

Lucifer frowned, looking from Sam to Dean and back to Sam again, running his fingers through his hair. "Can you still drink and have fun without worrying about me all night? I won't drink a lot…"

"I never worry about you," Sam said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Well, I do, but not about that. I know if you see anything in your reflection, you'll tell me instantly, right?"

"I promise."

"Then go get us a drink and ask Dean what he thinks."

He watched as the older Novak talked to the older Winchester. Dean clasped Lucifer in a one-armed hug, pretty much all the proof Sam needed to know Dean was getting drunk. He liked Lucifer, but he liked pretending to dislike Lucifer even more. When he started drinking, his affection for Castiel's brother came pouring out, and Dean didn't like denying any of the Novaks anything. He was nodding his head, and then Lucifer was pouring two drinks.

Dean gestured to the crowd, and the pair of them laughed.

When Lucifer turned to bring the drinks back, Dean turned with him, shooting a wink at Sam before turning back around. Those assholes weren't playing by the rules, and they were going to end up ruining everything.

Sam took a big gulp of his drink, made a face, and swallowed despite the overwhelming desire to spit it out. "What the hell is that?"

"It's rum," Lucifer grinned. "And a bit of coke. Cause I swear to you, this night will end with you begging for me."

Sam took Lucifer's word for it and took another sip.

* * *

It was always impressive watching the way Castiel's body moved in time with the others'. Even when he was dancing with family, the press of their bodies against one another was beautiful, and the dancing was something Dean didn't really see a lot of anymore what with the pills and the professional life they were making for themselves.

It had been Halloween, Dean thought, that Castiel let himself go into the thump of the base and the crashing treble. They'd driven out to Stanford to see Sam and Lucifer and party with their crowd. Dean was Batman and the rest of them were villains (Sammy finally got to be the Joker with Jess as his Harley Quinn, Lucifer was a pretty fantastic _The Dark Knight_ version of Two-Face, and the real Batman probably never cornered Scarecrow in the bathroom of a club and fucked him against a stall, but it wasn't Dean's fault that Castiel kept pretending to spray him with fear toxin all night). Anyway, _before_ the bathroom sex, Castiel had been dancing and that had been the last time Dean had seen him so free.

Now he was surrounded by pretty girls in tight clothes (who had kept fetching Castiel drinks, and Dean could only imagine how drunk his partner was) and Dean definitely approved. It was just as pornographic as it had been all those years ago, but Dean seriously loved being the voyeur now. After all, he could dance with whomever he wanted, but at the end of the night, Dean would be the one reaping the benefits of the press of two bodies and the sweat that all the others helped caused. And fuck, if that wasn't hot, Dean didn't know what was.

Castiel eventually left, stumbling his way through the crowd. His chest was heaving – Dean couldn't help but focus on the beads of sweat on his forehead and neck – and he leaned close to his partner as he poured himself another drink and downed it in six seconds flat. Dean pushed Castiel's hair back on his head, and the smaller body pressed against his, hands slipping into Dean's back pockets.

"You sure you don't want to dance?"

Dean nodded, trying to hide his grin behind his drink. Castiel frowned for a moment, reaching his hand into his pocket and pulling out his phone. One side of his mouth angled upward in a smirk before his eyes found Dean's again. "Gabriel has called a family meeting in the basement."

"We're not going to have to watch him dancing with Meg, Lilith, and Ruby again, are we?" Dean asked.

"I hope not," Castiel said, taking a step back and nodding toward the door. Dean started leading the way, but Castiel paused and took Dean by the wrist, holding him back. "Wait a moment, I believe I remember that this was where I roofied you at the other party."

"You didn't roofie me, Cas. You gave me uppers not depressants," Dean turned, smiling at him. "But I do think I have a headache starting. Plus, I totally forgot to take my vitamins today. So go ahead and hit me with it."

Castiel rolled his eyes, digging the drugs out of his pocket. He picked out one of each before placing his hand over Dean's jaw. The older boy opened his mouth, and Castiel put the pills on the waiting tongue. When he closed his mouth, Castiel placed a small, soft kiss against the other man's lips, then turned and walked inside the back door. Dean washed them down with his drink, then followed Castiel inside.

* * *

At the Sign In, Sam had been trying to pick up chicks for Lucifer. Well, he'd been hanging out with Lucifer, making a fool of himself while the blond boy turned down every girl Sam tried to attract. Which made total sense in hindsight, obviously, but it meant that they were supposed to recreate it tonight.

Sam had tried a line on one girl, and Lucifer shot him a look of such an utter lack of amusement that Sam was leaning over the railing laughing, and no more girls were given lines that night. It didn't take long for Castiel to come back and lead Dean inside the house. So Sam and Lucifer checked their phones and, sure enough, it was Gabriel telling them to come downstairs.

"What do you think Cas'll think?" Sam asked, but Lucifer shook his head.

"He isn't going to like it, that's for damn sure," Lucifer said. "We should probably get down there 'cause he won't be above throwing punches. Last thing Dean needs half a week before his wedding is a black eye."

Sam nodded and started walking toward the door, but Lucifer grabbed his hand and pulled him to the makeshift bar. "After a shot," he grinned.

Sam just rolled his eyes and said, "Okay, after a shot."

And he couldn't really help his body's reaction to the poison. Sam inhaled after the shot was down and started coughing. Lucifer just smiled, patted his boyfriend's back and said, "Don't worry, Sam. It gets better."

But it hadn't really gotten all that better in nine years, so Sam doubted that it ever would.

* * *

Castiel hit the landing of the basement and stopped, causing Dean to hit up against him. The shorter boy had forgotten that he had bad memories assorted with this place thanks to the alcohol, but he certainly remembered them now.

Suddenly, Castiel wasn't twenty-six, but he was seventeen again, climbing down the wooden steps into his own personal den of sin and decadence. This wasn't Balthazar's basement; his younger brother had kept boxes of storage in the basement, keeping it different from the basement Castiel went to sell himself and take drugs in as a teenager. But this was not his brother's basement. This was Crowley's. The bar was stocked full, just like always used to be, but Balthazar and Bela were behind it. The couches were back out in the open, but Michael and Hester were sitting on them. Castiel turned, and his bed was there, but Victor was sitting on it, talking to Uriel loudly about football. But the blankets were the same design. The bookshelf, the desk, the candy dish where Crowley kept the heroin was still sitting on the headboard and without thinking, Castiel took a step toward it.

Dean caught Castiel's wrist, and when the smaller boy turned, he didn't see the teenager anymore. Dean had crow's feet at his eyes, his freckles – though still there – didn't stand out like they did when he was a teenager. This was not the boy who brought him to the party all those years ago. This was the man he would be marrying in just a couple of days.

"What the fuck?" Dean yelled, actually yelled, to Balthazar. The younger Novak was behind the bar, already drunk but shrugging like he didn't think it was a big deal. If Dean didn't have such a strong grasp on Castiel, the other man was sure he would be behind the bar, pounding some sense into his future brother-in-law.

"Authenticity," Balthazar slurred. "So what're to you having, Winchester?"

Castiel looked back toward the bed. It was the same frame, and the blankets had the same design, but it wasn't the same mattress, and it wasn't the same blankets. Crowley had gotten rid of everything but the big things – the frame, the desk, the bookshelf – and the things on them were just replicas. Those weren't Crowley's books. That wasn't Crowley's bed.

There probably wasn't heroin in the candy dish.

All of the sudden, Lucifer and Sam were desending the steps behind him, approaching the couple like they were a potentially dangerous animal. Dean, certainly, looked pissed, but Castiel focused on the differences. His brothers were down here. This was his brother's house. He wasn't taking drugs anymore.

He was marrying Dean in a couple of days.

"You okay, Cas?" Sam asked, hitting the landing and reaching out. Strong hands clasped to Castiel's biceps, his vision full of the giant little Winchester. And Castiel smiled. This man would be his brother, soon. So Castiel nodded.

"It is authentic."

"You're not mad at us, are you?" Sam asked, and over his shoulder, Castiel could see that Dean was still glaring at Lucifer.

Castiel reached up, cupping the side of the other man's face in his hands and Sam flinched from the intimacy of the touch, but he didn't jerk away. Instead, he allowed himself to be held, and Castiel smiled at him. "I remember that you were hiding last time. And I remember that I complimented your singing voice and I said you were pleasing to be around. That doesn't come close, Sam Winchester. You mean so much more to me now than you did that night."

"Um… okay, Cas. Thanks. Dean, how much has he had?"

"A lot. The girls pretty much kept an alcohol IV going while he was dancing," but Dean was smiling now, a wide, authentic thing splitting his face. He never admitted it aloud, but he loved the friendship between his brother and his lover.

"You saved my brother's life," Castiel insisted, pulling Sam down for a hug. "You helped to save mine."

Sam patted at Castiel's back a couple of times before Dean started laughing and prying Castiel from his little brother. As suddenly as the fury had come, it was gone, and Dean led Castiel over to the bar. "Well, Balthy, I'll do a Jäger Bomb to catch up. Just give him some Redbull."

Castiel kept one hand clinging to the bar while he drank the energy drink as quickly as he could. He knew his heart would start pounding, but his vision was already swimming with the alcohol. Dean and Lucifer and Sam were all doing Jäger Bombs, and Castiel watched them race, watched their Adam's apples bob with the effort of drinking, watched the liquid pass by their mouths to dribble down their chin.

Uriel was pressed up behind him, asking Balthazar to make him one, and Castiel gave up his seat to let his brother sit down. He looked around the room once more, taking in Crowley's basement overflowing with Novak influence. Hester was practically on top of Michael on the couch. Zachariah and Rachel were walking down the steps hand-in-hand, and Victor was looking down at his phone, fingers flying over the touch screen.

Castiel wanted to know if there was heroin in that candy dish.

He walked across the room to the bed, putting a knee on the mattress before climbing up and crawling over to the headboard. He sat back on his heels and opened the dish, taking out one of the small treasures inside. It was rolled in the candy paper, just like the heroin used to be, but when Castiel pressed his finger and thumb against it, he realized it wasn't powder. It didn't move and give away under the pressure, so he unwrapped it and popped the hard candy in his mouth.

His nose wrinkled and his cheeks hallowed out. It was a freaking sour warhead. Damn his brothers straight to hell.

Victor was the only one close enough to see Castiel's expression, so he was the only one to laugh at him. Castiel turned, letting himself fall on the mattress and spread his hands out over the blanket next to the other man. He could get lost over here, Castiel knew, because it wasn't perfectly the same, but it was so close. He wondered if Sam and Lucifer had meant for him to lose himself tonight.

If he wanted to avoid getting lost, he was going to need to be active in his fight to stay in the present. He turned the candy over in his mouth to get rid of the sour outer layer so he could enjoy the sweet grape underneath and looked up at Victor.

"Where's my sister?"

"They ordered some pizzas," Victor leaned back, placing his hand behind his body to hold himself up. He turned and looked down at the drunken man, but his face seemed kind and nonjudgmental. Castiel liked Victor. "She's up there with Missouri waiting for it. She'll bring it down when it gets here."

"Did they get just cheese?"

"Obviously," Victor grinned. "It's your party and you don't eat pepperoni, and you outweigh the rest of us with decent taste."

"They'll get one with meat too," Castiel closed his eyes. "Dean likes meat."

"I know that your boyfriend likes meat," Victor joked, and Castiel had to spit the warhead out in the trash near the bed so he didn't choke on it. By the time the pair of them calmed down, Missouri and Rafi were putting two sheet pizzas on the bar. Castiel made a move to get up, but it was easier said than done so he just lay there.

Eventually, Rafi came over with two plates. She handed them both to Victor, then grinned down at her little brother. "Can you sit up on your own?"

"Yes," Castiel insisted. "I just don't want to."

"Then let me help," She said. Between the two of them, Castiel managed to sit with his legs crossed on the bed with a plate of cheese pizza in his lap. Rafi grabbed herself a plate, then joined her brother and her boyfriend on the bed. "So how are you enjoying your last party as a single man, Castiel?"

"I'm not a single man," Castiel frowned.

"I meant for tax purposes. You'll be married soon. That has to be exciting."

"Tons of people get married," Castiel shrugged. "Not everybody gets to become who they were meant to be. How are you feeling?"

"Healing nicely, actually," Rafi shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. "I like seeing an F next to sex on my birth certificate."

"That's fantastic, Rafi," Castiel grinned. "That means you two can have a regular old heterosexual marriage if you want to. With a cream colored dress and the works."

"My dress can be white if I want it to be," Rafi snapped, but she was grinning.

Castiel shot a look at Victor. "Right, just like mine would be."

Victor was a district attorney in Colorado, and Rafi was a trial lawyer. They met after she started her hormonal therapy, but before the sex reassignment surgery. He watched a couple of her cases and asked her for a date. She was taken so off-guard by his question that she blurted that she still had a penis. He just stared at her, said, "What a coincidence. I have one too. Pick you up at eight?" And that was, as they say, that.

Castiel liked Victor. He liked that Rafi was finally happy. And he really liked this pizza, too.

* * *

"Dean Winchester, look at you!"

Dean smiled at the voice behind him, turning to embrace the woman who had dropped off the pizza. Missouri wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her chest before holding him out at arm's length. "You're growing up so handsome."

"It's only been a couple of months, Missouri," Dean grinned.

"Yeah, but you're actually growing up and marrying that boy before he comes to his senses and drops your goofy ass," Missouri smiled despite Dean's falling face. Behind her, he saw Uriel smirk into his drink.

"And what about you, huh? You two aren't married."

"We haven't been dating since the dawn of time, either," Missouri snapped back, putting her hands on her hips.

"Neither have we," Dean frowned, pointing across the room toward where Lucifer and Sam were playing some drinking game with Michael and Hester. "Those two've been dating two whole years longer'n me and Cas."

"Only officially," Uriel said with a roll of his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that it doesn't matter the two of you weren't fucking for two years. Neither of you were fucking anyone else either," Missouri poked at Dean's chest, but the younger man just blushed with the blunt way she was putting it. "You two were dating even if you don't count it officially."

Dean reached around her, grabbing at another slice of pizza. He started eating it, trying to come up with some sort of comeback to that comment. He really couldn't think of anything, so he just let it drop. Of course, Uriel and Missouri were a match made in hell and both of them liked verbal confirmation when they were right. Both of them were giving a sassy (okay, Uriel would beat the crap out of Dean for saying he was sassy, but he totally _was_ ) look that involved one eyebrow raised and crossed arms so Dean just picked up his drink and took a sip.

"Fine, assholes, you win. Whatever you say. You guys waiting forever or what, anyway? If you don't hurry up another one of the younger boys'll be married before you two."

"If _somebody_ doesn't hurry up, Claire'll be married before us," Missouri shot, turning on her boyfriend as easy as she turned on anyone else. She spun on her heels and marched off toward the bed. Rafi and Victor were laughing, and Castiel was sitting between them, an empty plate on his lap.

Dean watched his fiancé stand, hugging Missouri and offering Uriel a small smile. The elder man just laughed, picking his brother up in his arms and spinning him around. Uriel was always the one who played into the macho exterior, but he'd always had a soft spot in his heart for his younger brothers. And like any older sibling, he was just happy that his family was happy.

The older Winchester grinned and waved his glass in front of Balthazar's face. He filled the solo cup up with Jameson, and Dean loaded up a plate with cheese pizza, picking it up (and steadying himself on his feet) and walking over to his brother on the couch. He set the pizza on the table in front of the four of them and leaned back, watching as they paused in their discussion to grab for the food.

Though, to be honest, discussion was a generous description.

Michael had gotten into some fancy music school in New York City right after high school. He would be away from his family for the first time – nearly as far away from his twin as he could get and still remain in the continental United States – and he didn't take the separation well. He lasted a semester in New York before they kicked him out. It wasn't because his grades were bad, although they were pretty atrocious. In one semester, Michael had three strikes with drinking alcohol underage. He officially dropped out and moved back home.

Jimmy had no idea what to do with Michael. So he allowed his son to do what he asked. He stayed with Lucifer in his dorm at Stanford for a week.

When Michael came back, he enrolled in KU with Dean, and he didn't drink again until his twenty-first birthday. After that, of course, was a different story.

Michael's arm was thrown over Lucifer's shoulders, holding his brother close. Lucifer had his head turned, angled toward his twin, and Michael had his forehead pressed against his brother's cheek. The arm around Lucifer's shoulder bent at the elbow, threading the blond hair.

"Will you stay?" Michael slurred, and Lucifer reached out, taking his brother's hands in his.

"What're they talking about?" Dean asked Sam. His younger brother was fighting a piece of cheese that wouldn't leave his slice of pizza, and it took a few moments for his brother to chew in swallow. Hester – who was pretty drunk, but nowhere near as drunk as her boyfriend – was trying to pry Michael from his brother.

"After I graduate, Michael wants to know if we'll move back here."

"I thought that was the plan," Dean said, raising his eyebrows. "I thought you wanted to find a house in Lawrence. Get a job here."

"Yeah," Lucifer said, twisting away from his brother to look at Dean. "But what will I do? What do you do with my degree in Lawrence?"

Hester took Michael's face in her hands, drawing it toward her so he would look away. His eyelids closed, but Dean could see him grip his brother's hand tighter, like he was afraid of letting go. "You could always teach," Dean said, raising his eyebrows, trying to be helpful.

Lucifer just dropped his brother's hand and leaned forward to snatch a piece of pizza from the plate, throwing a wink in Dean's direction. After he took a bite, Kali walked down the stairs, grinning out at the family. "Okay, Gabe says he's ready."

* * *

"I don't want to, Gabe," I whined, leaning against the basement door because I was too intoxicated to stand on my own. "I don't even know your brothers. Why can't Kali do it?"

"Because you have the iPod," Gabriel was looking in the mirror, adjusting his shirt just a bit. He'd been doing it all night. I liked Gabriel; I really did. I admired his dedication to his family and the ridiculous shit he would do and put up with to make them happy. But I was not family. I was not really friends with either of the grooms. I shouldn't have even been there.

I felt a hand at my back, and I moved to the side. John Winchester was grinning down at Gabriel, his arm wrapped around Ellen's shoulder. "You look cute, son."

"Boys aren't supposed to be cute," Gabriel said, but there was a smirk on his face. He opened his arms and bounced forward onto his toes. Ellen smiled at him.

"Then you look damn cute," John said. "Everyone else down there, already?"

"Yeah. Everyone but my dad, I think. All my brothers and sisters."

John opened the door to the basement. Before he walked in, Ellen reached out, smoothing her hand over Gabriel's shoulder. "You look very nice, little angel."

"Aw, thanks a bunch, Ellen." As they walked down the stairs, I heard Gabriel sigh. He was jittery, and I've known the man for many years. He didn't get embarrassed or anxious when he was about to make a fool out of himself. He only acted like an adult when he was at work – and even then it was sort of a light definition of adult – and he only got stressed out when his dad was involved. Sure enough, he turned his hand over, looking at the watch against his inner wrist, and asked. "Where the hell is my dad?"

There was something that I should probably explain, because I didn't think the last chapter was completely true. The Novaks were raised in a religious household, even though the faith took hold differently in each of them. One thing I would say about them was that despite their faults and flaws, they had a near angelic capacity for forgiveness. I mean, if I had a brother and he broke my arm then ostracized me publicly for a few months, I wouldn't just up and forgive him when he visited me in the hospital. I never really knew my father, but if he just suddenly showed up again, I wouldn't just forgive him.

And while the Novak children certainly forgave their father for abandoning them – more so because it granted them peace, not because of him coming back – they could never really forget that they weren't his favorites anymore. Jimmy talked about those kids in his program constantly. He would Skype with them and Amelia all the time. And Gabriel, being the youngest, got to see it all. He saw the way his dad's interactions with the woman changed over the years, from businesslike to more casual, more romantic.

Eventually, after Castiel moved in with Dean and Balthazar had left for college, Gabriel was left alone with his father, and he didn't blame Jimmy for having a new life somewhere else, he really didn't. But he couldn't forget the times when he was a kid and Jimmy would hold _him_ on his lap, reading him stories from the Bible.

When Gabriel left for college, Jimmy left for Pontiac.

Jimmy and Amelia were married, and the Novaks were happy for their father. They respected Amelia, and she was a kind person. She wasn't their mother, but they couldn't blame Jimmy for wanting companionship.

Then Claire was born, and the Novaks loved their little sister. But they knew, too. None of them talked about it, but it was loud and clear – a parallel that only kids raised on the Bible, named for angels could truly appreciate – their father had created new life, and he would rather have his sons love and respect Claire than he would have that love himself. And while they were never literally asked to bow down to her, there was certainly a pecking order and superiority meant nothing.

They didn't blame Jimmy. They were growing up, starting families of their own, and it was only natural that their father sought companionship as well. So they forgave him for abandoning them the first time – because if something was wrong anytime after that first time, he would come when they called and they knew he loved them – but they never forgot anything he had done.

And that caused a certain amount of friction among the Novak children.

"Gabriel," Jimmy was suddenly right behind me, and when I turned around, I saw that the man had his hand on his son's shoulder. Gabriel straightened up like a soldier, holding his chest and his chin high like he had something to prove. And maybe he did. Maybe all the older Novak children were still, to some degree, fighting for daddy's approval – to be the good little soldiers of the Lord that Jimmy had raised them to be – but Gabriel wasn't expecting the reaction he got.

Jimmy took in his son's outfit and tears were in his eyes. He hugged the man around the shoulders, pressing Gabriel's face to his chest. "You remind me so much of your mother, Gabriel," Jimmy murmured, pressing his face into his son's hair. Gabriel made a noise and clung to Jimmy's shirt. Jimmy never mentioned Anna; he went out of his way to avoid talking about her. I had never wanted to reach out and comfort my friend more. "You would do anything to keep this family together, and you are paramount. You are the glue, and your mother would be proud of you."

When Jimmy moved back, holding his son at arm's length, Amelia walked up. She shoved Jimmy away, before holding Gabriel's arms out to his sides, smiling at him. There was another thing about Amelia that I probably should have mentioned earlier too. The Novak children didn't want a replacement mom, but Amelia's capacity for love surprised them. She loved them like they were her own, even if they didn't want her to. She wasn't their mother, but damn was she a good surrogate.

"Oh, baby angel, look at you," she said, and swear to God, Gabriel was blushing when he looked up at her. "Castiel showed me the video a couple of months ago, and you were cute then, but just look at you now."

"It's nothing," Gabriel said, pulling his arms back into himself. "It's… it's a joke. It's not like a Rafi or a Luci thing. I'm not really coming out or anything."

"Your favorite Doctor Who character is Jack Harkness, sweetie," Amelia said, offering a sympathetic look. "You can't really go back anywhere at this point."

I snorted, but they ignored me. If only they freaking knew how sex-equal loving the man could be if given the opportunity. (But for the record, I was still 97% sure he kept making me write the threesome thing as a long-running inside joke and not because of any actual interest).

"We'll see you down there," Jimmy said, touching the man's shoulder one more time. "Have fun, son."

When they walked down the stairs, I heard a handful of the Novaks calling to them. I could see Castiel moving into sight to hug his father and Amelia, and even when he was stoned out of his fucking mind in chemistry class, he never staggered that much. Dude was seriously drunk. It kind of made me feel better about this whole me embarrassing myself thing.

"So are you ready?" He asked me.

"I would rather succumb to my poisoned liver and die."

Gabriel smiled and pushed me toward the door. I stumbled before righting myself on the first step, saving myself from tumbling head first down the stairs. "Then you're as ready as you are for anything else you ever do, alcoholic. Just remember. They'll only be looking at you until I come down the stairs."

"Gabriel Novak, you are a narcissist," I called back to him, but started walking down the stairs.

He just hissed, "Have you seen what I'm wearing?" before he shut the door most of the way, only leaving it open just a sliver to hear his cue.

When I walked down the stairs, nobody paid much attention to me. Castiel and Dean were sitting on one couch with a drink in their hands even though both of them had their heads thrown back in drunken laughter already. Lucifer, Michael, and Uriel were sitting on the other couch – each of them with a drink, too – and they were giggling and having a good time, too. Sam was talking to his dad and Ellen at the bar, Rafi was hugging Amelia, and Zachariah and Balthazar were talking to Jimmy. Kali, Bela, and Victor were throwing back shots, and I walked behind the bar and plugged Gabriel's iPod into the stereo system.

 

 

 

 

 

" _Gentlemen, our benefactor on this Christmas day,  
Whose charity is only matched my talent, I must say…"_

They all looked at me. Some of them looked more pissed than others, and Castiel wrapped Dean's arm over his shoulder and leaned back into him, resting his head on his shoulder and laughing. After another few seconds, most of the other Novaks recognized the song. By the time Gabriel walked downstairs, I had turned my back. I pulled a bottle of whiskey off the top shelf.

If Balthazar got angry with me, Gabriel would end up smoothing it over. That was the story of our adult lives.

I took a huge sip right from the bottle.

 

 

 

 

 

" _Today 4 U. Tomorrow 4 Me."_

When I turned around, Gabriel was trying to push himself up from lying on top of Lucifer and Uriel. Once he was up, he started banging the drumsticks on the table, and Michael was yelling at him about ruining his good sticks.

There were tears of laughter, and when it was over, most of the Novaks were on their feet, hugging at their younger brother. They started talking about it instantly – who had been who when their mother had helped them put it on years ago – and it took almost no time for them to start yelling at me to put on another song.

I had been a pretty constant fixture in the Novak clan at this point; Gabriel kept forcing me (read: luring me with the promise of free alcohol) to go to parties and picnics with him and Kali. The singing was something I never got used to. I never would.

The Novaks were just men named for a choir of angels. All of them fell short of perfect – fallen men in a fallen world – but there was something they were perfect at. There was one thing their mom had instilled in them before she died and hearing them all together would be the closest I would ever come to heaven.

Since the first time the Novaks sang this song, nineteen years had passed. Their voices had changed. One had survived numerous suicide attempts; one had survived an addiction to drugs. Two of them were married and had kids. One taught peewee football, and another was a teacher. One was a big shot lawyer, and the last – ironically or not – wanted to have a threesome with his girlfriend and his best friend.

But one thing that hadn't changed was the harmony. They weren't all biologically related, but they were a family. And their voices reached heaven when they sang together.

I didn't leave because I started crying. I just had accidentally splashed some whiskey in my eye.

* * *

The bed smelled like Crowley.

Castiel spread his arms out over the comforter, letting his fingers run over the material. He reached under the top one to find the electric blanket under it. Castiel ran the satin part between his fingers, nose pressed against the comforter, wondering if his brothers were so committed to the authenticity of the night that they had his friend lay in this bed for a few hours, just to get his scent all over it.

When Castiel had moved back to the bed, Gabriel had stripped his sexy Santa outfit, but he was still in tights and heels under other Angel costume, and Lucifer was teasing him for his new height. He could hear them over on the other side of the room, still talking and laughing and singing, but Castiel's head was swimming, and when he closed his eyes, he could remember waking up in this bed, wishing he were with Dean instead.

The bed dipped with added weight, but Castiel didn't have it in him to turn around and see who it was. He didn't have to wait long to figure out who it was. A hand placed itself between his shoulder blades, rubbing small circles on his back. "Wake up, angel. I have another present for you."

"No more," Castiel whined. "Too drunk. I don't want to puke."

"'S not alcohol, love," Crowley traced his palm over the lower wing of Castiel's shoulder blade, and the man shook his shoulders. He pushed himself up on his elbows – after just a bit of struggling – and he turned to face his friend. Crowley held up a cigarette and grinned, "Merry Christmas, Sherlock."

Castiel pushed himself up and got his knees under him so he was sitting back against his heels. The man had sworn off drugs, but cigarettes were a treat. He didn't like to smoke often – he feared becoming addicted to any substance again – but he was powerless to deny an offer like that when he was drunk. Castiel reached out with grabby hands, and Crowley handed it over to him.

"Does that make you my Mycroft?"

Crowley laughed, ducking his head and looking up through his eyelashes. "No, angel. I'll always be your Moriarty."

Castiel needed to use Crowley's shoulder to help stabilize himself before taking a shaky step away. Crowley was there with a hand on his back, ready to grab him if he fell. The room was spinning, but Dean was in focus. He was raising a bottle to his lips with a grin on his face, rolling his eyes at the men next to him. Lucifer had his arms wrapped around Phil's shoulders from behind, and the smaller blond man was patting his arm, balancing a glass of wine on his knee with his other hand.

When Castiel knocked into something, the three of them looked over. The music was pumping through the iPod, even though a lot of the people had left the basement in favor of the dance party outside. Castiel used his cigarette to point toward the staircase, and Dean nodded, smiled, and offered a wave.

By the time Crowley helped Castiel outside, the taller man was shaking for the nicotine. When he put it in his mouth, Crowley was already cupping his hand around the end, holding the lighter up for Castiel to use. The taller man leaned forward to rest his hand against Crowley's to guide it toward the cigarette. He inhaled as the paper and tobacco caught, puffing the first breath out through his nose. Crowley took a step back, dug the pack out his pocket, and lit one for himself.

The pair of them leaned against the deck, watching the people in the pool. Past them, the masses were still swaying together like a beehive of activity, and Castiel took a long drag, watching the way the smoke he blew from his mouth dissipated in the air above him.

"Cigarettes are better than sex," Castiel practically moaned. Crowley shot him a look, so Castiel amended, "Better than sex with you."

It wasn't until after he said it that he realized it was the first time either of them had mentioned their physical relationship aloud to each other in nine years. When Crowley left, they cut off and avoided any discussion about anything intimate. Crowley had marked over every inch of Castiel's skin before; Castiel could cut their sexual tension with a knife.

And just like that – with a simple, drunken jab – it was gone. And Crowley took a huge breath in, like he could feel it too. "Oh, don't even get me started on how shitty of a lay you were. You know how often you just sat there and took it?"

"I think I was pretty comatose with heroin back then," Castiel blew out another puff. "I might not have even bothered to be conscious for most of it. Why bother pretending?"

Crowley's grin split his face, and when Castiel turned to face him, the pair of them started laughing. Their shoulders knocked together, and after a second, Crowley used his free hand to brush some hair from the other man's forehead. "Christ, we were terrible."

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "But things are good with Phil?"

"Oh, don't even get me started. His fucking tongue, Castiel. It should be a sin, let me tell you," Crowley brought the cigarette to his mouth, letting it out through his nose. "I don't dare to ask about Dean."

"He can get off without me touching him," Castiel looked up at the stars. "Twenty-nine years old and he still responds to me like he's eighteen."

"TMI, angel. I owe you now," Crowley put the butt of the cigarette out against the railing. Balthazar wouldn't care. "Phale likes to tie me up, then he…"

"I'm sorry," Castiel had one puff of the cigarette left before it burned into the filter, but he held vertically in his hands, watching the embers glow. "You're my best friend, Anthony. You should be in my wedding. I was too afraid of myself and our history to invite you myself. And you deserved better than that."

"Aw, come off it, Cas," their shoulders were pushed together, and Castiel could feel Crowley's skin burning through their clothes. "I was your drug dealer. Then I was your pimp and loan shark. You don't owe me anything."

"That's not true. You were the one I wrote to when I wanted nothing more than to use again. You were the one I wrote to when Dean and I got back together, and every time we've had a fight. You've always been my go-to. You've always been my supplier; it's just you're dealing something different now. Do you know what I mean?" Castiel finally put the cigarette in his mouth, taking the last drag.

"Yes, angel. I know exactly what you mean."

* * *

Ruby was pressed up against Sam on the other end of the basement, and Lucifer was trying really hard not to think of himself as a voyeuristic creepy old man, but it was kind of hard. Sam had learned how to dance in the oversized body in college, and Ruby was as beautiful as ever. Sam's giant hands were low on the girl's hips, and it didn't help anything that he kept throwing flirty little smirks over Ruby's head.

Lucifer put his feet up on the coffee table at the same time that Lilith sat down beside him.

The blonde girl was drunk, her arms finding his bicep and pressing herself against him. She rested her head against his shoulder, looked up at him from behind her eyelashes and breathed his name against his neck. It was followed by a small giggled, "We have drank too much."

"Yes, I see that," Lucifer smiled at her, adjusting his arm to wrap around her shoulder. When he pulled her to his chest, she wrapped her arms around his stomach and gave a contented, loving sigh. His other hand brushed her hair from her face.

"What will Casey say?" the girl asked.

"She'll be half asleep, anyway. Byron never says anything when Balthazar gets wasted. Plus, Ellen'll give you and Ruby a ride home," Lucifer rested his chin against his friend's head, shooting a smile at Sam across the room. "Plus, me and Sam'll be sleeping there tonight even if I have to drag his drunk ass home. I can watch her."

Lilith laughed, a rumble shaking her whole body, before she leaned away from him and smiled, "I don't need my daughter hearing the boy king screaming his praise to the god."

"Lily, I want you to dance with me," Ruby cut in, flopping herself down on Lilith and wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Lucifer saw that the blonde had been right. They were freaking drunk guessing by the way they started giggling. "The moose is too big."

"He's completely proportionate too," Lucifer grinned, elbowing the Lilith in the side. That set the girls off again (it also set them off balance and they toppled over together on the couch), but Sam gave a long-suffering, annoyed sigh from above him.

"Don't objectify me," Sam held down his hand, and Lucifer took it. He let his boyfriend pull him to his feet. Lucifer's hand went to his jacket pocket, checking to make sure he hadn't lost the little box. It was stupid to bring, but he had carried it everywhere since he'd gotten it. He sort of didn't trust Sam not to find it in his bag – not that his boyfriend was a snoop, he was just considerate and would likely find it when he was doing laundry or something – so he kept it on him. "It's hot. Let's go outside."

"Yes, sir," Lucifer grinned, letting their fingers slide together. He led Sam to the bar, and Balthazar stopped making out with Bela long enough to make them both a drink, even though Sam was way too drunk to drink it anyway. Lucifer tossed his back, but Sam carried his with him, leaning heavily against his boyfriend up the stairs. "That's it, Sammy, just lift one leg at a time."

"Don't patronize me either," Sam frowned, but he tripped on his next step. He smiled at Lucifer when he managed to hold them both upright and save Sam's drink from spilling all over.

* * *

 

" _We were lovers in a past life, I can see it in your green eyes…"_

Dean walked onto the back porch, the music still thumping and the mass of bodies still dancing despite the hour. He saw Crowley and Phil leaning close to each other on the deck. He shot a look around, but Castiel wasn't there. So he walked up to the Brits and asked, "Where's the angel?" 

" _Maybe you were one of my wives in a long, lost tribe."_

Crowley grinned, and Phil pointed to the crowd. Dean wished he could say it was harder to pick Castiel out of a crowd of dancing people, but it really wasn't. He was close to the pool and swaying on his feet; Dean was pretty sure that he would be laid out on his back if Meg's hands weren't holding him upright. Her face was buried in his neck, his hands wrapped around her hips holding them close together, and Dean scanned the crowd, panic setting in when he didn't see the other girl.

"Where's Abby?"

"You thought you had to watch out for me, I bet," Crowley laughed, knuckles white from clenching the porch. He was hammered and holding on to dear life. Fuck. As if Castiel wasn't drunk enough, apparently a smoke break had turned into a shot break, too. "Fuck, I remember when he woke up with my cousin Scarlett after a night of fun. He pushed her up against a wall downtown and quoted a pizza man porn Ligur had been watching the night before. I love when the angel's so messed up he forgets he's gay."

" _There's just something about you I know. Started centuries ago, though…"_

"Where's Abby?" Dean asked again, fingers gripping around Crowley's wrist. The dark haired man put his forehead against the railing, his back shaking with his laughter.

Phil put his hand on Crowley's back, smoothing small circles over the muscle. He offered Dean an apologetic look and said, "They broke up this morning. We've been watching them though. Nothing more than dancing. We would have stopped them otherwise, Dean. I promise."

"Fuck," Dean yelled and ran out on the floor to break the pair up.

 " _Your kiss is like a lost ghost, only I'd know."_

It wasn't that he didn't trust Castiel, but he did have a bit of a history with Meg. They stayed in touch – Castiel was one of the only people to stay in touch with Meg after high school because everyone else remembered her being a prostitute for a bit there – and every time Meg and her girlfriend broke up, they would go out drinking.

The first time, Castiel had insisted that Dean go to, so he could keep an eye on Castiel. He had meant the mix of alcohol and medication, but Dean quickly learned that he had to keep an eye on the girl. She'd always been physically close to any guy she could get close to, but Dean had looked away for two seconds and when he looked back, Meg was planting one on his boyfriend and Castiel was too drunk to really push her back.

Meg and her girlfriend had been going on again and off again for three or four years, and Dean had pulled Castiel away from Meg his fair share of times. At first, he thought she was doing it to get a rise out of Dean, because she only seemed to make a move when Dean was around, but he eventually he caught on.

Meg was murmuring, "Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?" against her dance partner's neck when Dean got there. Castiel pushed his nose into her hair, his eyes closed, and if he answered, Dean didn't hear what he said. The girl was pushing back enough to look at him after, grinning up at him, saying, "You really do know how to make a girl's neathers quiver, don't you?"

"I am aware of how to do that," Castiel said. "Although…"

"Although he prefers the neathers of a dude," Dean chirped in. "Isn't that right, Cas?"

When Castiel turned to look at Dean, his face lit up like he had forgotten where he was before and it all made sense now. Like he was lost and then he was found. Castiel always looked at him like that, even when he wasn't drunk. Dean would get home from work, and Castiel would have that same look when he looked up from playing with Byron. He would give that same look when he brought Dean a drink when he'd been working in the garage. It was so full of love and wonder and affection…

And it really did. It made Dean's neathers quiver.

"That's not really all that fair, is it?" Meg asked, but Castiel was already turning away. She grabbed his arm and tugged him back, planting a kiss on his lips. For Castiel's part, his eyebrows furrowed like he was slightly confused, but he was barely able to stand on his own feet. It was a short kiss – partly because Dean tugged on Castiel's arm and it sent the man spinning and tumbling away from Meg and crashing his back against Dean's chest – but Meg didn't try to hold him there either. "You're marrying him in a couple of days, Dean. Can't you share him in the mean time?"

"Okay. If he'd rather kiss you, then you can have him for the night," Dean spun Castiel around so they were face to face, and the man's eyes spun like he couldn't focus them. He was officially cut off from the alcohol. Dean had to get him lying down or near a toilet ASAP. "Hey, Cas. Look at me."

Castiel's eyes found Dean's mouth, then slid up his face. The grin he gave should be illegal. "Hello Dean."

"Yeah, hi. Listen, you just kissed Meg. Do you remember that? Remember what it was like?" Dean asked, but Castiel just looked confused for a moment. He nodded. "Okay, I'm gonna kiss you now and you tell me which is better, alright?"

"Yes, Dean," Castiel practically moaned, throwing his arms around his fiancé's shoulders and pressing their lips sloppily together before Dean got a chance to move in. It was hard to get Castiel to stop – Dean was practically holding up his entire weight and Castiel kept pushing forward when Dean tried to get away – but eventually he succeeded, much to Castiel's annoyance. His hands shifted lower, groping at the other man, and Dean practically dropped him in surprise. "Please, Dean," Castiel murmured against his throat. "Please, again."

"That good enough for you, Meg?" Dean asked, tugging Castiel's arm around his shoulders so he could lead him back to the house. Zachariah, Uriel and Raphael and their families took up all of the spare bedrooms, but Dean was sure he could get everyone to bail from the basement.

"No," Meg was gripping at Castiel's hand, a frown on her face. "No, it isn't. Abaddon keeps leaving me. Every man I've ever been with treats me like a whore, but not him. He's special, Dean. He's my unicorn."

"No, he isn't," Dean snapped. "He isn't Crowley's angel, and he isn't your… uh… unicorn. Okay? He's mine. And you're not a prostitute anymore. You can do whatever the fuck you want with your body, but you gotta stop pissing Abby off, Meg. One day, she isn't going to come back to you. So do me a favor and go home and tell her you're sorry." He pointed a finger at her. "And you better bring her as a plus one because Cas will be devastated if you aren't happy and dancing and leading the charge down the aisle. And I swear to God if you kiss my husband on our wedding night, I will gank you."

Meg was still frowning, but she was nodding too.

"Besides, Meg, he's a good friend to you. That's why he asked you to be in the wedding. Besides Crowley, you might be his only friend. You don't really want to mess that up trying to sleep with him, do you?"

Meg looked down, and as Dean started leading his very incredibly drunk fiancé back to the house, Castiel turned back to Meg. "I like Abaddon, but drinking with you is a fond memory."

When Castiel turned his attention back to Dean – and trying to make out with him even though it was very clear to Dean that they were supposed to be _walking_ – the taller man saw a smile on Meg's face before she disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

 " _The sun goes down, the stars come out._

_And all that counts is here and now._

_My universe will never be the same._ _  
_ _I'm glad you came. I'm glad you came."_

The trek up the hill had been rough for Sam, but once Lucifer sat, Sam laid down next to him, breathing heavily with his eyes closed. That only made the world spin more, so he opened them once again. Lucifer was looking at him.

" _You cast a spell on me, spell on me._ _  
__You hit me like the sky fell on me, fell on me."_

They sat in silence for a couple of moments before Lucifer sat Sam's drink down. It remained untouched. When Sam's breathing returned to normal, he sat up. Lucifer peered at him for a moment, before looking over at the taller man. He was supposed to offer the jacket to him, but he felt the box and frowned. "You're not cold are you?"

"It's July, handsome," Sam grinned. "And I'm not the one who sleeps with an electric blanket all summer." 

" _And I decided you look well on me, well on me.  
So let's go somewhere no one else can see, you and me."_

Lucifer could remember every moment of this part of that night, despite how drunk he had been and despite the pain of a broken arm. He could remember the way Sam had looked up at the stars; he remembered the way he could see the sharpied star sticking out from the sleeve.

Now, there was a tattoo of that same star decorating Sam's wrist, and unless something happened and he spent a ton of money to get it removed, it would stay there forever. It wasn't really a brand or a claim. To Lucifer, it was more of a choice. Sam had chosen to get that tattooed on him, to bind himself to Lucifer with a mark on his body for the rest of eternity. Sam had already made the choice, but Lucifer couldn't find a way to show Sam how much it meant to him.

He was going to spend the rest of his life with the man sitting next to him. But he didn't have a clue how to ask, just to be sure. 

" _The sun goes down, the stars come out.  
And all that counts is here and now."_

"Last time we were here, I told you that Lucifer meant light-bearer," Sam was still looking up at the stars. "And I'm sort of really drunk, so don't hold it against me, but you're the light of my life, you know that? You're the one burning constant. You're the first light I see in the morning, and the last light I see before close my eyes. Forever."

" _My universe will never be the same."_

Sam wasn't even trying and he was making it so perfect. When Lucifer didn't say anything right away, Sam turned to look at him, a goofy, half-drunk but completely loving smile plastered over his face.

Lucifer reached over, pressing his thumb against the tattoo as he wrapped his hand around Sam's wrist. Then he moved up his forearm, letting his fingers dance over Sam's skin, tightening into his bicep before moving up to rest against Sam's shoulder.

Fuck being a Novak. The last time they were here, it was the start of what he thought would be the end, but really it was just the end of the past era. He had been broken – a boy desperate for death, consumed with the guilt of not living up to his father's unrealistic expectations and a disease in his brain that fed on his every insecurity – but after Sam… Christ, after Sam he lived. He loved living. He dealt with his grief and guilt and every one of his insecurities and he took his medication to stay healthy because after he met Sam everything was worth it. The day-to-day struggles were worth it because at night, he would be laying next to Sam. In the morning, he would be there to kiss him awake. He wasn't a man named for an angel who failed because it was a part of life and a part of growing up.

He was a man who made a choice every single morning. And every single choice he made was based on one question: Is Sam Winchester happy? Because long before Sam chose to get that star tattooed on his arm, Lucifer chose to do whatever it took to make sure that the answer to that question was always a yes.

So fuck being a Novak with the unrealistic, angelic expectations. Lucifer wanted to be a Winchester.

"Sam," Lucifer breathed, cupping his hand around the back of his boyfriend's neck. He needed to tell him. He needed to say all of those things, but he didn't know what words to say.

" _I'm glad you came."_

But as he pulled Sam closer, he knew how to start.

" _I'm glad you…"_

In hindsight, he really should have expected it when his hand was ripped from the back of Sam's neck. He yelped as he was pulled by his wrist to his feet, his arm suddenly pinned behind his back with his wrist between his shoulder blades.

This time, Michael wasn't holding him as tight – his shoulder didn't threaten to pop at any second – but he was furious. The tone of his voice wasn't begging this time. It was with gritted teeth that he spit out, "Michael, please…"

"You were told not to come here," Michael hissed, but Lucifer could feel the smile on his brother's lips against his ear. He had no idea he was breaking up this perfect moment – a-fucking-gain – he was just playing along. Lucifer took a deep breath and calmed himself.

They had wanted authenticity.

"No," Sam whispered, on his hands and knees. Lucifer looked down. Sam looked fifteen again, completely terrified and nauseous and like he was going to throw up. His fingers were balled into fists, and he was trying to get his long legs to cooperate enough so he could stand. "Not again."

But Michael was too drunk to see Sam's trauma, and with an easy kick to the back of his knee, Lucifer dropped to the ground. He didn't fall hard – certainly not as hard as he did last time – but Michael was on top of him, holding him down with a knee to his back.

Sam growled, Michael yelped, and Lucifer's back was abandoned.

He turned quick enough to watch the pair of them roll on the ground, but Sam was bigger and stronger and he was really drunk. He had fought in high school – trained to fight – and the instinct didn't die. Once he got Michael pinned down, he raised a fist. Lucifer stood and caught it just before Sam swung.

"Nonono, Sammy," Lucifer hugged Sam's right hand against his stomach, putting all of his weight into stopping that fist from breaking loose. "He wasn't going to hurt me. Remember? We're at Dean and Cas' bachelor party. Authenticity, remember?"

It took a long moment for Sam to blink, then he unclenched his fist. He looked down, and Michael was still under him, arm up to block his face, and Sam moved off of him, crawling a few feet away before throwing up. Lucifer didn't know if it was because of the alcohol or snapping out of a rage to find his friend under him. Michael let off a nervous laugh and pushed himself up so he was sitting. Lucifer knelt next to his boyfriend, rubbing his back. He could feel the muscles trembling, and at first, he thought Sam would be sick again. Then he realized he was crying.

The question _Is Sam Winchester happy?_ was answered with a negative. Lucifer would do anything to fix that. Anything. Even if his brother ended up hating him. Even if he regretted it in the morning.

"No, Sam, please. It's okay. It's all okay now, right? I mean, Michael was joking; he wasn't going to break my arm again. And it was really hot the way you jumped in to save me. I always liked the idea of you being my knight in shining plaid, you know? And… and before we were interrupted, I wanted to say that you're my light too, Sam. You're the thing that makes me shine. Without you, I would have fizzled out and burned away. I die without you."

The younger man sat back on his heels, but kept his back facing Lucifer, letting the man rub the soothing circles over the muscles.

"Sam, listen. I am human, and I will let you down. But I hope so much more than that, I can lift you up the way you have always lifted me. And… and it hasn't been easy, but it's worth it for a knockout just like you."

At that, Sam did turn around with a small smile and said, "I'm thinking always of you too."

"Fuck," Lucifer's hand stopped moving, one hand fisting into his hair and rubbing it back against the grain. "Quoting songs. Okay, hang on, let me try again." Sam waited patiently, the small smile growing, but Lucifer was the one shaking now, like he had taken away all of Sam's worry in this botched speech, and he bit his lip and changed tactics. "Okay, never mind. You know in _The Gambler_ when Nate sings _'I swear when I grow up, I won't just buy you a rose. I'll buy the flower shop and you will never be lonely.'_ That's what I want to do. I want to buy you a flower shop… no, not literally. But…"

Lucifer huffed again and closed his eyes, fingers digging into the material at Sam's back. "But _I will not leave, I will not leave, 'til it's our time. So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side._ Do you understand? Am I making any sense?"

Sam turned around, pushing Lucifer's hand out of his hair and smoothing it back down. The blond man leaned into his touch, keeping his eyes closed. "Yes, of course I understand. I love you too."

"Yes, that's what I mean. You're the love of my life. And… and…" When Lucifer put his hand into his pocket, Sam's eyes followed the movement. When he pulled out the box and opened it, Lucifer figured that if Sam's eyes were any bigger, they would probably explode. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you… so… so will you spend the rest of yours with me?"

Sam took the ring from the box, trying to get a look at it in the darkness. "I don't know what to say."

"I really fucking hope you say yes, to be honest."

"No, I mean… you only quoted four songs during your proposal and I would have easily bet on more than five. Plus, Cas is going to murder you for popping the question two days before his wedding. And I'm going to murder you for popping the question two minutes after I puked," But Sam was grinning.

"Well, I can take it back and you can imagine this was all a big, drunken dream," Lucifer said, reaching out for the ring with his shoulders sagging, but Sam put it on his finger and moved his hand to where Lucifer couldn't reach it.

"It wouldn't be a surprise now. You blew it, so this is the memory you get to look back on forever and constantly regret it," Sam looked at his hand and how the ring fit on it. He couldn't stop smiling. "I have a ring for you, too. Asshole. Always stealing my thunder."

"Is that a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes," Sam cupped Lucifer's face in his hands. "I would kiss you but like I said… just threw up two minutes ago."

"I don't care," Lucifer said, trying to lean in, but Sam stood, offering his hand to his boyfriend – er, fiancé now – to help him up.

"I do," Sam looked around. Michael had disappeared, likely to tell everyone that Lucifer was proposing, and Sam kind of wanted to get out of there before a very drunk and very angry Castiel found them. "Make you a deal. Walk me home and let me brush my teeth first, then I'll show you exactly how much of a yes that is."

Finally, finally Lucifer felt himself smiling and exhaling the breath he had been holding. "Sorry I botched that. I just want to make you happy."

"You do, Luce," Sam pulled him into a hug, closing his eyes and standing with him under the stars. "And it was perfect."

* * *

Castiel's chest was slicked with sweat, but his back was on fire. Every spot where his body touched the body behind him there was a thin layer of perspiration. A forehead was placed between Castiel's bare shoulder blades, a hand protectively placed over his heart.

The sheets were expensive. Castiel could feel them against his bare hip and stomach. He wasn't sure why that seemed so important all of the sudden.

"Dean," he whispered to the darkness, but the man behind him groaned and let his hand slide lower, pressing against Castiel's hip with his fingers spreading wide over Castiel's bare thigh. The dark haired man moved too, reaching behind him to find the small of his fiancé's back. He held him still as he rolled himself back against the man, earning another groan and a kiss between his shoulder blades.

A wave of nausea hit Castiel, and he stilled his movements, opening his eyes to try to ground himself. He was surprised to see that he wasn't in the bed he had shared with Dean for the past several years. They weren't his sheets, and that was why Castiel's body had made note of it. They weren't his, but he recognized them all the same.

They were Crowley's sheets. He was in Crowley's basement.

For a second, terror overcame Castiel. His head was pounding, and he wasn't sure if he had dreamt the happy future with Dean. Castiel's body was trembling with effort, and he tried to pull away, but the body behind him kept them held together, digging his fingers into the soft flesh at Castiel's waist.

He didn't just dream those years, did he? He wasn't still an addict, still in bed with Crowley, was he? "Dean?" he asked again, voice shaking. This time, there was a sigh from behind him before another gentle kiss was placed against his shoulder blades.

"Wha's a'matter, Cas? Gonna be sick? Lemme put some clothes on and I'll help you walk to the bathroom."

And Castiel closed his eyes, thanking God and everything in existence that it was Dean's voice.

"No," Castiel whispered, fighting against his upset stomach and pounding head so that he could turn around and face his fiancé. Dean's eyes slid open just a sliver but they were black in the dark basement. He let a hand trail up Castiel's naked body to push his hair off his face, resting against his scalp, a tired, happy smile forming on his lips. "I'm fine, Dean. Perfectly fine."

"It's been years, Cas. I can tell when you're lying to me." But Dean just leaned forward, pressing his lips against the smaller man's. "In case you forgot, I put a bucket down at your side of the bed last night. Your brother's already going to be pissed we defiled a bed in his house. No need to add puking all over it to his threats too."

"How did I ever deserve to be with someone so good?" Castiel asked, letting his fingers rub up and down Dean's sides. The older man closed his eyes, wrapped an arm around Castiel's shoulders and dragged him closer. Castiel's face was buried in Dean's chest, and he noticed the bed didn't smell like Crowley anymore. It smelled like Dean and Castiel and sweat and sex, and that was perfectly okay with Castiel.

It was a much better smell.

"You've got a fine ass and you're a terrific lay," Dean pressed a kiss against his forehead. "I'm not good. I just want a trophy husband."

Castiel laughed, and he could feel the vibration of it pounding through his ribcage. Dean was giving a small, tired chuckle too. Castiel pressed a soft, open mouthed kiss close to Dean's nipple and the man holding him froze with anticipation. The dark haired man just grinned and said, "You're not so bad yourself, though."

Dean grinned and rolled away, checking his phone with a sigh. "It's just before six," he said, rolling back to Castiel, hand sliding over his hip to grope his fiancé. Castiel smiled into the pillow. "You remember last night at all? You were pretty adamant about how you wanted to be taken in the same spot someone else took you. Said all this stuff about washing away the memory with new ones. Couldn't really tell between the slurs and the moans," Dean chuckled and pressed forward, letting his hips and stomach push against Castiel's. "Seriously, you were pretty loud."

"I don't remember, really," Castiel murmured against Dean's collarbone. "Perhaps you will have to remind me…"

Castiel could still feel the ache in his muscles from the night before, and when Dean didn't push him to his back, Castiel took the initiative and rolled onto his fiancé. He sat up, sat back against his heels, hands pushing at Dean's knees. Dean opened his thighs to him, hips still pressed against the bed but the bottom of his thighs rested against the top of Castiel's and the dark haired man trailed his hand down the man's chest. He traced the contours of his abdominal muscles, thumb rubbing a small circle against his hipbone before gripping at Dean, letting his wrist give a long, slow pull. Dean hissed and arched against the sheets.

"Or perhaps we can make new memories, as I so eloquently put it the last night."

"Oh, seriously, Cassie? That sounds like a cheap line from _Casa Erotica_ ," Gabriel burst in through the Winchesters' garage door, a grin on his face. Kali was right behind him. He took one look at me – dutifully taking notes on the MacBook despite the full body blush that was threatening to make me combust – and started laughing. I frowned, dropped my hands away from the keyboard, and Castiel took a long, innocent drink from his cup.

It wasn't until he downed it and had to set it back down and couldn't manage to suppress his completely evil grin that I realized I was being ganged up on. They were pushing me – Sam had done it earlier, Castiel was doing it now – seeing how explicit I could get before I managed to embarrass myself. I wish I could say I found it humorous, but I was mostly pouting that they were playing a game with me.

"You don't think I can write a gay sex scene explicitly?" I asked.

"I think there are certain words which you avoid," Castiel said.

I typed something on the MacBook and turned it around to show him. He snorted. "See, I can totally write the word _cock_ if that's what you want from me. To cheapen the beautiful epic down into the dirty details of sex." To emphasize, I highlighted and underlined the word.

"And you romanticize a bit."

"It's a love story, Castiel," I whined, looking to Gabriel for help. "Shouldn't everything be romantic?"

With nobody watching him, Gabriel had snuck a slice of pizza. It was already gone – if licking his fingers was any indication – so he abandoned the box and wrapped his arms around my shoulders from behind, hugging me to his chest. "Cassie, be nice to my roomie. Plus, if he's writing anything using the word cock, it better be about mine when he writes about the thrilling and epic marathon threesomes we have which he continues to deny."

I just sighed. Fucking Novaks.

"Let's just be really honest here," Sam said, leaning back in his chair. "I hear that they've got ropes and chains and stuff. The whole story would have been a lot different if they forced you to include that in at every turn."

"What do you mean you hear that we have that stuff?" Dean shot across the kitchen, frowning as he put some plates down next to the pizza.

"I mean I've literally heard you," Sam said. "And you're fucking loud."

I folded my arms and let my head drop into them. Fucking Winchesters.

"Oh, before I forget, how did you take the news of the engagement?" I asked Castiel, hitting enter so the curser was underneath the word cock before looking back up at him. "You weren't a bridezilla about it or anything, right?"

"Of course not," Castiel said, puffing out his chin and chest like he took personal offense to it. "I was happy for them."

I looked over at Sam, who smiled, shoving his shoulder into Castiel's. "He was cool about it. That next day after I got over my hangover he let us take engagement pictures in our tuxes in his back yard. The one of us on the swing was from that day, remember it?" Sam dug through the photos that were splayed out over the table. He held one out to me of the two of them sitting on the wood and rope swing hanging from the Winchesters' tree in their back yard. Sam's back was to the camera, Lucifer's front was, but they were both sitting on the swing, facing each other with grins on their faces. Lucifer was just in his vest and undershirt, but it was black and white. I couldn't tell the vest was blue. It was the photo I had looked at back in Sam's apartment all those months ago.

"Hey, look who I found," Lucifer said, walking in the garage door. Balthazar, Bela, and Byron were following him, but Sam stood and took the wiggling golden ball of fur from Lucifer's hands. The golden retriever was still a puppy – they'd only gotten him when they got back from their honeymoon – but he had giant paws. He was going to be a monster. Balthazar made a beeline for the pizza, and together he and Dean started dishing it out to the rest of the people.

Castiel bent down to unzip Byron's coat, but Bela told him to keep it on, so the man just picked up his nephew instead, holding him to his hip like a protective mother. Gabriel wouldn't release his hold on me; instead, he dropped his chin to my head and rested it there. His closeness didn't bother me like it used to. Sam and Lucifer were cooing over the puppy like it was a baby – _their_ baby – and everyone just seemed so happy.

"Oh," Bela said, touching Castiel's arm with one hand, holding a plate of pizza with the other. "Mike and Hes are on their way, too."

"Nope," Michael called from the garage – why did nobody use the front door? – he entered with a case of soda in his arms. Hester had a bowl of salad. "We are here, too."

It was kind of funny, because Sam, Dean, Lucifer, and Castiel looked like they hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Sam and Dean weren't even out of their pajamas yet, but suddenly their house held every single member of the Novak clan who lived in Lawrence. I remembered when they fought constantly. I remember when they hated each other. But Dean and Castiel took to the invasion like impromptu gatherings happened all the time.

Because, honestly, they did.

"Okay," Bela said, waving her arms over her head. "It doesn't need any real preamble or anything. Byron just wanted to show you something." Once the rest of the family was looking over at her, she took her son from Castiel and sat him on the floor. "Go on, baby. Take off your coat."

The boy grinned up at his mother and fumbled with the zipper. Bela had to start it, and once he pulled the zipper down, he tugged the fleece off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He held the white t-shirt at the bottom, looking down at the letters which were upside-down to him. Even if they weren't, the boy knew how to write his first name. He couldn't read yet, anyway.

But everyone else could.

_If I could read, I would know that I'm going to be a big brother._

The boy grinned at the cheers and applause like he had done something fantastic by taking off his jacket, even if Uncle Cassie threw his arms around his mommy and kissed her cheek. If Uncle Gabe turned and pulled his daddy tight into him, they must just be congratulating his parents on something amazing he did.

Nobody told Byron what his shirt said. He wouldn't know until after her first trimester, when her belly started getting just a little bit bigger than it had been.

After the congratulations were done, Bela went to the living room to start calling the family not present in Lawrence – Jimmy, Zachariah, Uriel, and Rafi – and the rest of them started eating. Gabriel waited until she was out of earshot until he punched his older brother's arm and said, "You still got Byron's HOTmilk stuff, or you need me to pick you up some more?"

Balthazar sat a slice of pizza in front of me, ignoring Gabriel's pregnant lingerie comment completely. He bit into his own slice, leaning over me to see the MacBook sitting on the table. He read a handful of words, most notably the capital and underlined word _cock_ , and made a sympathetic face. "Didn't realize they were making you write their porno."

"Yeah… well…"

Dean sighed. "No, seriously, let's just jump right to the wedding."

"Oh, yes. Wedding porn," Lucifer grinned, taking a bite out of his pizza. He didn't wait to chew, he just kept talking. "I mean, who could forget that closet scene, amirite? But more importantly, my dress. Let me straight up tell you, my darling writer, that that dress continues to be the most used costume in mine and Sam's…"

"Lucifer," Gabriel snapped, wrapping his arms around me from behind again. His chest and stomach were pressed against my back, his warm breath pushing through my hair. "My sweet baby is not writing any more sexy time scenes unless it's our sexy time scenes. It isn't a competition because everyone knows we win in the end."

"Truth," Kali added.

"Please get off of me, Gabe," I said, shaking my shoulders, but he just held on tighter, putting his face in my hair. I had learned to deal with baby monkey Gabriel years ago; if I just left him alone and didn't mention my discomfort, he'd grow bored and leave me be. It didn't take long. There was pizza to eat, after all. "But yes, perhaps we could jump to the wedding? I mean, this was supposed to just be a bit of clarification, you know? Not a-whole-nother massive chapter. I've got a deadline, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Lucifer said, "You were totally at the wedding, so you should be able to write this on your own anyway. Besides, the actual ceremony wasn't the good part. And you know that…"

* * *

When Lucifer stepped out of one of the Sunday school rooms, he looked back and forth to determine whether anyone was in the hall before stepping out. Rafi pushed his bare shoulders from behind and Jo was giggling, still pulling up her green dress and trying to tie it behind her back. Lucifer had seen his fair share of boobage (but half of it was his sister's boobage which wasn't all that awesome even if they still were pretty new, but Jo took his nine year commitment to Sam to mean that he didn't have eyes and even though she was laughing now, she had smacked him across the face when he commented after she dropped trou right in front of him like no big deal) in his quest to piss his brother off on his wedding day. And he was pretty traumatized, to be completely honest. And to be even more completely honest, he couldn't really believe that he once went to cushiony deposits of fat instead of a trimmed and lean chest like Sam's but…

("Jesus Christ," Gabriel yelled, hitting Lucifer across the Winchesters' dining room table. "Just get on with it.")

Rafi reached out to adjust the clip in Lucifer's hair, smiling at him. "You're actually really attractive," she said. "But you have manly shoulders."

"Well, I'm a guy, so…" Lucifer said, grinning, and smoothing the material down over his stomach. "Alright. I'll see you in ten if Cas doesn't kill me." Rafi just nodded and shut the door behind her. Lucifer turned and walked toward the music coming from down the hall.

Dean hadn't cared about the location – he hadn't had strong preferences about almost anything except the colors – and when Castiel had suggested a church, Dean agreed even though he wasn't religious. Either way, Michael's church had been more than happy to accommodate the happy couple.

Michael's church, which he preached at every Sunday, was massive. Even when Lucifer used to go here before he was cast out of his family, he never realized how big it was. And Michael – being a music teacher – had extended the music repertoire even more. In fact, Lucifer had no idea how his twin brother managed to fulfill all of the responsibilities of a teacher, a reverend, and co-founder of the school's LARPing club along with Dean and Charlie. How could he possibly have a life outside of that? Anyway, Lucifer was thankful for it now, because in the hallway he could hear the piano being played from the choir's practice room down the hall, and he knew where to find his brother.

After pushing the door open, Lucifer took a moment to watch Castiel. It had been no secret that he was building up to a panic. He had spent the night at Balthazar's the night before because he wanted to keep from seeing Dean before the wedding, and twice Lucifer had caught him crying during the movies Balthazar and Rafi had picked out for him.

And not during the sad parts.

When Castiel was getting dressed this morning, he was silent, and after being stuck in the room for an hour to keep him from stumbling into Dean, he finally left for some alone time to clear his thoughts.

He wasn't alone now.

Castiel was playing the old piano, and Gabriel was dancing with Claire around the room. They were singing _"Everybody wants to be a cat"_ from the Aristocats, and it wasn't all that often that Castiel let himself go enough to play jazz, so Lucifer stood in the door and watched.

Gabriel's green vest and tie were poking out behind his suit jacket, even though Claire's white flower girl dress covered most of his chest. The girl had her arms around her older brother's shoulders with a look of affection and love that only young kids can truly display. Claire sought Gabriel out at all of their family events; the brother closest in age to her was obviously her favorite.

It wasn't until Gabriel turned around and looked up that he caught sight of Lucifer in the doorway. He grinned, hoisted Claire up from where she was getting heavy and slipping down, and said, "Hey, sexy lady. Want to defile a church with me?"

Lucifer rolled his eyes, putting one hand on his hip and sticking it out the way he saw Rafi do it when she was angry. "You gonna put up or shut up, big boy?"

Castiel turned around at that, horror draining the color from his face, and his fingers skipped against wrong notes. He pushed the stool back, having manners enough to stand in front of a lady even when that lady was his brother. He turned to face Lucifer and said, "We promised no incestuous comments at my wedding. Though to be honest, I had expected them from Michael, not you, Gabriel."

"Using my full name," Gabriel said, grinning down at Claire. "I'm in trouble."

"Let's go look at the flowers, Gabey," Claire said, agreeing and looking for an out. Gabriel sat her down, but she took the man's hand instantly, dragging him out of the room. As she left, she did say, "You look really beautiful, Luci," which caused Gabriel to start giggling. Lucifer walked into the room and shut the door behind him.

The halter-top dress went past his knees, and he had flats on in the same shade of blue as the dress. His hair was wavy and had a barrette in it, like the flappers from the twenties did, because it was the only style he knew he could do with his hair this short. He took two steps into the room, toward his brother, but Castiel turned back to the piano.

"You can't wear that," Castiel said, pushing down the middle C key mindlessly. "You better've brought your tux."

"Rafi can wear a dress."

"Rafi is a woman, Lucifer. You're my best man."

"What's wrong, Cas?" Lucifer asked, putting his hands on his brother's shoulders, pressing his thumbs on opposite sides of his spine and rubbing. Castiel sighed, breaking down at the contact.

"I can't do this," he said, letting his hand crash on the keys. The angry sound rang out around the room before falling still again. "I have doubts – massive doubts – and I have fears."

"Like what?" Lucifer asked, still rubbing at his brother's back. Castiel sighed once more.

"I'm not good enough. I'm not even whole. I've cheated on Dean before, and I… I'm not what's best for him. Dean would be happier with someone more stable or with a partner who could give him a biological child. I fear he only asked me to marry him because we've been dating pretty much since high school. We've always been together, so why not just continue? I fear he's settling for me," Castiel hit another key to mask the sound of his sniffle. "I fear he is making a mistake, and I will let him down."

Lucifer's arms pressed passed Castiel's shoulders, holding his brother back against his chest. He ran his thumbs under Castiel's eyes, wiping away the tears even though his brother tried to flinch away and swat at his hands. Then Lucifer just held him. "Those seem like doubts, you're right. But you don't doubt that you love him; they are doubts because you do love him. And those aren't really doubts… they're more like qualms."

Castiel snorted, but said nothing for a long moment. He just pushed his back closer to his brother's chest. When he finally did speak, he was so quiet that Lucifer wouldn't have heard him at all if he hadn't been so close to his brother. "Do you have any reservations about marrying Sam?"

"You know I do," Lucifer said. "I share your fears. Sam is my everything – as Dean is yours – and I would leave in a moment if I thought anyone could treat him better than I can. But you aren't broken, Castiel. And neither am I. And if we were to leave the Winchesters, they could end up with people who don't appreciate and love them like we do. I promise to always love him, and always show him that I love him. I always try to make him happy, and as long as he's happy, I'm allowed to indulge in him. I'm allowed to stay with him."

"He loves you, too," Castiel reminded his brother, reaching up a hand to cover Lucifer's where it had settled over his brother's heart. "He would want you happy, too."

"Dean is the same," Lucifer said, smiling down at his brother. "It's funny, how those Winchesters are."

Castiel nodded, and for another moment he was silent, gripping his brother's hand before playing out a few chords on the piano. It was his and Dean's song, and Lucifer grinned, letting go of the man and taking a step back.

"But you still should change out of the dress, Lucifer," Castiel said, turning around to face him. "Although Claire was right. Your fluidity is both refreshing and attractive. The dress suits you; although, if your shoulders were smaller..."

"Go fuck yourself," Lucifer said. "I look fantastic. I bet you I could totally get laid by one of Dean's party guys in this."

"Yeah, well Sam doesn't count and we already said no incest at my wedding," Castiel smiled. "So good luck with Bobby."

Lucifer thought about it for a minute, before making a face and saying, "Balls." Castiel was laughing when Lucifer left the room to change into his tux.

* * *

Dean was adjusting his tie in the mirror when the door opened. He raised his eyes to look up at the intruder in the mirror. His father cleaned up well in a suit, which was kind of a huge relief because Bobby looked like a lumberjack dressed up as a really ornery James Bond for Halloween and Dean didn't need to deal with both of them looking like a mess.

John must have seen the relief on his face because he extended his arms and said, "I know, right?"

Dean got his tie right and dropped his hands to his sides. John fidgeted with the hem of his jacket, and Dean knew this was a meaningful moment. In movies, this would be the part where his dad would come in to tell him he was proud of him (even though he was marrying a man and would likely not pass on his genes the way he would be if he was marrying a woman). He could almost imagine hearing the things John could say about raising Sam while he was gone, off being an alcoholic, or about how it was the best decision of his life to forgive Castiel for his mistake, or how he was damn proud Dean was a fucking _teacher_ – changing the lives of kids like him – after all the shit Dean went through in high school.

Because Dean was proud of himself. Sometimes, he thought back of the shitstorm that was his senior year of high school. He was going to quit the first day because of algebra and chemistry. And fuck if Dean remembered a single thing about chemistry – though he did know the symbols of a handful of elements and he would rock the elemental spelling categories on Jeopardy if Castiel was drinking or in the kitchen when the question was asked – but he helped his students with algebra a lot during study halls. Then after his first day, he found himself in a relationship with another dude. Then, that dude was selling drugs in the park to get money for his brother's gang. Bonus: that dude had a serious addiction to some hardcore drugs. Not enough? Triple word score because he was also selling himself for money to bail John out of jail. No, wait, no. The icing on the cake was finding that dude carved to hell in his fucking _bathtub_ from a self-inflicted wound.

Dean had a shitty year, and somehow after that, he decided to be a teacher. He decided to ask Castiel to move in with him, to marry him, to raise kids with him.

Dean was fucking proud of where he'd come from: a boy who couldn't afford to buy his brother a bag of chips in the vending machine. And when he caught his father's eye in the mirror, Dean knew he was proud of him too. It was in the awkward way John held his gaze, the way he shifted from foot to foot, and the way he cleared his throat and looked away.

"It's a nice day, huh?"

"Yeah," Dean said, turning around to face his father. "Glad it didn't rain."

"Yeah, me too," John said, looking up with a grin on his face. "Let's go find Jo and Gabe. It's time to get the pictures done. I can't believe I have two sons and they're getting married a little over a year apart. At least I never have to dress up again."

"You're lucky. Cas has four unmarried brothers and two unmarried sisters. That's six freaking weddings I have to go to."

"And I'll only have to be at one of them," John grinned, opening the door and leading his son out into the hall.

* * *

As soon as Castiel was done taking a slew of pictures with everyone but Dean, he went back to the practice room to play the piano. Of course, he was never left alone for long.

Castiel heard the knock on the door. He yelled over his shoulder for the intruder to come in, but kept pressing down the chords. For a moment, just before the knock, he had been taken back to the time he had played this song on the grand piano in Crowley's house – back when it was Crowley's house and Crowley's piano – and he imagined looking away from the piano to his friend.

In the middle of the living room, Crowley had his hands in his mother's, twisting them and dancing, laughing. After she had told Castiel about Anna's suicide, about how his eldest brothers were adopted, she became a fixture in Castiel's life. He laid in her lap, letting her run her fingers through his hair. He danced with her and sang with her. He shot up with her, once or twice. They never shared a needle of course, but there was something that made a person feel undeniably close to another when they were injecting the same poison.

Castiel could feel Crowley's front pressing against his back as he sat at the piano. He could remember the grin on his own face when the older boy pressed his pointer finger under Castiel's chin, angling his head up toward him. He could feel the joint between his lips, held by Crowley's sure fingers. He could hear Crowley breathing the exhaled smoke and carbon dioxide above him from where Castiel had blown the puff out in his direction. Not really shot-gunning, but almost.

Behind them, Mrs. Crowley was spinning in circles, singing along with Castiel's playing. _"I feel so close to you right now…"_

"Hey, Castiel. I wanted to give you this before the wedding," came Phil's voice from behind him. Castiel stopped playing, and he turned around in his seat to look at his friend. He had two boxes in his hands, but there was a small smile on his face. "Ant used to listen to that song on repeat after his mother died. He said he had good memories of her with it."

"He did, I think," Castiel said, standing up.

"And memories of you too," Phil said, tilting his head to the side, giving the man a small smile at the same time as a knowing look.

Castiel nodded, keeping his eyes attached to the box, it was easier than meeting the other man's gaze. It was hard, after Castiel got out of Grace, for him to look at Dean and not think of how he betrayed him. It was hard for him to look at Crowley and know that they used to be intimate. Both of those went away with time – at least to a certain extent – but the awkward twinge he felt in his chest hadn't gone away with Phil entirely.

Castiel and Phil knew so much about each other because Crowley had grown into the sharing type over the years. It would have been weird the first time Phil had gotten Castiel's favorite drink at a bar during a visit, if Castiel didn't know Phil's favorite drink from one of Crowley's letters. That knowledge paired with the strange guilt that he couldn't control that made Castiel want to apologize for sleeping with his boyfriend a couple of years before they even got together.

Phil switched gifts, holding the bottom one out to Castiel and keeping the other against his chest. "I found a 1955 first-edition set of _The Lord of the Rings_ books a couple of years ago. I have been saving them for Dean, but you were harder to buy for."

"You got Dean…" Castiel took his own box, eyeing the one that Phil kept in his hands. "That's… Phil, he's looked into the first sets of the trilogy. Those are way too expensive to give someone as a wedding present."

"I run a book shop, Castiel," Phil frowned. "Of course I know their worth. But because I run a book shop and other people don't, they often don't realize the treasure they old in their hands. This set was given to me by a man whose father had passed away. They were at the bottom of a box that he sold to me for almost nothing."

"So you could turn a huge profit," Castiel started, but Phil shook his head.

"No, Castiel. Dean deserves these. He has been nothing but kind to me every time he sees me, even though I was an outsider. He treated me like family when I visited, even though I would have expected him to hate me as an extension of his hate for Anthony," Phil turned away. "But he doesn't even hate Anthony. Hate is so easy, Castiel. Yet, Dean chooses to forgive. Anthony had carried around the guilt of what the two of you did to Dean for so long, but he is much lighter now. Happier. And Dean deserves everything from me as a reward for his compassion. And you, Castiel, have been a great friend to us both."

Castiel looked down at the gift, pulling at the paper, before opening the box. He almost dropped it, but managed to keep a hold of the leather and let the box crash to the floor. He ran his fingers over the old text before carefully opening to the middle. "Phil, this is…"

"Yes," Phil said, smiling. "Very old."

"It's in Italian."

"You can read Italian," Phil stated. It wasn't a question. He just knew. "I thought I would give this copy of _The Divine Comedy_ to your brother when he got married, but Anthony informed me he couldn't read Italian, so I'm looking for a text on medieval music for him. I have a beautiful Bible that Sam would love…"

"Why us?" Castiel asked, looking at the book in his hands. "Why them, too? What's so special about us?"

"I have no family, and Anthony's family does not appreciate books. We don't have many friends, either. Both of us are always working. You and Lucifer were always friends to him, and Dean and Sam have always treated me like family."

"Yeah," Castiel agreed. "It's funny how those Winchesters are."

"And soon, you will be a Winchester too," Phil said. "You are both very lucky men."

"Thank you, Phil," Castiel approached him slowly, like he wasn't sure if hugging was appropriate or not. After a moment's hesitation, the smaller man opened his arms, and Castiel wrapped his arms around him. "For everything."

The door barged open and the pair of them separated, looking at the door. Of course it was Crowley with a huge grin on his face, looking like his single biggest fantasy was coming to life. "Oi, the wedding's starting soon. Shouldn't you both be somewhere else?"

"I wanted to give him the book," Phil said, holding Dean's box to his chest.

"Yes, thank you for these," Castiel said, but Crowley just smirked.

"Those are just from him. I got you something else. Well, I got Dean something mostly, since he had the common decency to invite me. But I suppose you might enjoy it as well," Crowley said. Castiel shot a look at Phil, but the mild mannered man had certainly picked up a few things from Crowley. His smile turned just a bit wicked, and he walked forward, taking Crowley's arm. "And you might want to get downstairs. Twenty minutes to go. Wouldn't want them to start the happy day without you."

Castiel let the pair of them leave before he picked up his book and carried it back to the room he'd changed in. There were clothes thrown all over the room – Rafi and Meg's pajamas, Jo's jeans, and the dress Lucifer had been wearing earlier – but the bridesmaids and the best man were nowhere to be seen.

Castiel sat the book down on the counter over the clothes he had been wearing when he showed up. He still had twenty minutes, he thought as he walked out of the room. They wouldn't miss him just yet.

* * *

Dean was back in the room again, looking out the church window. It wasn't far from the Novak's old house, and if he had a window facing south instead of west, he would be able to see it. He was thumbing through _The Fellowship of the Ring_ carefully, trying his hardest not to do any damage to the priceless book.

He would have cried if Crowley hadn't been there.

Thank fucking God that Crowley had been there.

Dean tried to give it back, but Phil had frowned, yelled, "What the hell is it with you bloody Americans and your inability to accept a gift?" and stormed out.

Crowley had winked and said, "Wait 'til you see what I got you," before following the man down to the church.

So Dean was sitting there, waiting for Sam to get him for the ceremony – fifteen minutes – when he heard voices yelling down the hall. It wasn't all that strange, really. Lucifer and Meg had been yelling at almost everyone all morning, reminding them all to get ready and be where they were supposed to be. Sam took a laissez-faire approach to his best man duties, which mostly meant apologizing whenever Lucifer ruffled feathers.

What a match they were.

But then he heard Sam yell, "What do you mean he isn't in the choir room?"

"I mean," Lucifer yelled back from down the hall. "That he isn't in the fucking choir room, Sam. He isn't in the changing room. He isn't at the sanctuary. I don't know where Cas is."

"Well he was just with Crowley like, two seconds ago so he couldn't be far," Sam yelled. "You check the garden. I'll check with Michael and see if he's seen him."

Dean heard the pair of them run off in opposite directions, and for a solid twenty seconds, Dean stood with his hand on the door, listening to the sound of his blood rush in his ears and feeling his pulse pound against his neck.

Castiel was not running away. He wasn't. He just managed to misplace himself moments before their wedding.

That was it.

"Shit," Dean hissed, throwing the door open and stomping off down the hall.

He checked the room where the girls had changed and found the book Phil must have given him. He wouldn't run away – not with Crowley – not with Phil here, not right after the man had given him such a thoughtful present.

Dean checked the choir room. He checked the garden, and he checked sanctuary. And his palms weren't sweating. They totally weren't, okay, because Castiel wasn't running away. He was just making himself scarce like he planned on.

Oh, Christ, where was Castiel?

Dean burst into the kitchen, expecting to see it empty because all the catering would happen back at Balthazar's house for the reception, but Dean let out a huge sigh of relief when he spotted his fiancé looking in the refrigerator like he was at home and bored and looking for something to munch on. "Oh, thank God."

Castiel turned and looked at Dean, shutting the door as a smile grew on his face. Dean felt himself being looked over. After a moment, Castiel breathed, "wow," but Dean was rushing on the man, throwing his arms around Castiel's shoulders, keeping their bodies pressed tight. For a moment, Castiel froze, but his arms quickly wound their way around his fiancé's hips and he said, "We aren't supposed to see each other yet."

"Sam and Lucifer couldn't find you," Dean murmured against Castiel's neck, his lips coming into contact with the shorter man's skin with each passing word. "Just thought I'd come looking so you wouldn't be late."

"Late to my own wedding?" Castiel asked, pushing Dean's hips away. The man took the hint and moved back, hand clinging at Castiel's in an attempt to keep contact. Castiel's eyes were shining with tears, but his voice was holding strong, as he looked over his fiancé in his wedding clothes. "I believe they have to wait for me. You look incredible. You parted your hair to the side."

And, swear to God, Dean wasn't going to cry at his own stupid wedding. He knew Castiel's suit would be almost the same as his, and he had no doubts about marrying his best friend. He wasn't nervous, and he wasn't going to be emotional about it. But there was something about seeing Castiel tear up just looking at him, just thinking of the fact they'd be bound by law for the rest of their lives got to Dean. He looked down, desperate to hide it from Castiel and replied, "You like my hair like this. What are you doing in here?"

"Looking for the cake," Castiel said, somewhat distracted as he ran his hands over Dean's shoulders. Then over his collarbones. Then down his chest, fingers pressing into the fabric like if he pressed hard enough, he could actually feel the skin underneath. "I wanted to sample a bite, but now…"

"Cake's at Bale's," Dean said, feeling a bit warmer under the collar from Castiel's appraisal of his body. "We'll be eating it soon."

"Do you remember when I was angry with you for inviting Anthony to the wedding?" Castiel asked, fingers tracing over the button of Dean's vest, not popping it out of its hole, but moving like it wanted to.

"Yeah, it was like… not that long ago."

"Do you remember the terms under which I relinquished my anger?" Castiel asked, eyes still trained on Dean's stomach. "I said after I took your name, I would then take you. Do you remember that, Dean?"

Dean was having a hard time thinking about much of anything but his fiancé's fingers and the look of hunger on his face. He swallowed hard – more of a gulp if Dean was honest with himself – and tried to meet the man's eye. Castiel wouldn't allow the contact. He didn't look up and Dean knew he wouldn't until he answered. He was breathless when he whispered, "Yes."

"I fear I will not be able to wait that long –"

"Cas, it's like fifteen minutes."

"– and as compensation, I will give you back our first time as married couple. If you let me have now."

"Right now?" Dean practically whined, but his hands were on his own belt, fumbling with the buckle even as he protested with words. "We don't have much time."

"It is our wedding, Dean," Castiel pushed Dean's sloppy hands from his belt, unlatching it and slipping the button behind it through the hole and tugging down his fly in three efficient movements. "They have to wait for us."

"Fuck, Cas," Dean groaned, letting Castiel push him from the middle of the kitchen to the doorway off to the side, half hidden behind the refrigerator.

"That is the idea, yes."

"We're in a church," Dean's back hit the door and it sounded more painful than it felt. Castiel scowled at the obstacle, hands finding the doorknob behind Dean and turning it. Dean stumbled in the room backwards. The room was small. He really couldn't lie out flat on his back, and if he got on his hands and knees, Castiel wouldn't be able to fit behind him on his knees. It wasn't until he looked up and noticed the flour and the canned goods, and he swore to himself again. "We're in a pantry in a church."

"This is an act of love, Dean," Castiel said, working at unbuttoning his own pants, wasting no time pushing them down with his underwear and kicking off his shoes so he could remove them. He folded them and placed them on one of the shelves to the right. "Love is always praised. Now, please take your pants off. I don't want to risk a mess. It will make the photographs awkward."

"Christ, Cas," Dean said, scrambling to get naked from the waist down in record time. He barely shoved his clothes on top of Castiel's before he felt Castiel pushing the shirt, vest, and suit up his back, exposing him. Dean helped him by bunching it up around his armpits the best he could, hands flat on the wall to brace himself while still standing upright, letting Castiel take control from behind. He felt a cool, slick finger press against him and he hissed. Of course his boy scout of a fiancé was prepared. "Oh, Christ."

"Perhaps, though, you should lay off the blasphemy this time. Just in case physical love in a church is a form of sacrilege."

"It is, Cas," Dean groaned, extending his arms just a bit so he could push back into Castiel's finger, arching his back. "It so totally is, but fuck if it's not hot. You all prepared and all."

"I did not anticipate being able to resist you for long," Castiel murmured against the suit jacket still covering Dean's back. "Although, I would have bet money on lasting until the limo ride to the reception."

"Look at you," Dean breathed, a humorless chuckle barely coming out over a low moan. "Taking charge, all prepared, even a bit of dirty talking. This must be a special day."

Castiel removed his finger and pressed two in, as a reward or a punishment, Dean had no idea. Dean had enough space between him and the wall to hang his head, biting his lip to stop the slew of curses. For a moment, the pantry was filled with almost silence. The exception was their breathing – Dean's sharp intakes and Castiel's steady exhales – but then Castiel used his foot to push Dean's leg out, spreading them. When the dark haired man started pushing at the back of Dean's knee to get him to bend it and pulling at his thigh, Dean made another loud sound at the change in the angle and pressure.

"Put your foot up on the lowest shelf," Castiel said, and Dean did as he was told, pushing cans out of his way on the shelf that was a foot and a half up from the ground, spreading his legs and bending his knee to expose himself further to the man behind him.

"Freaking crazy for it, Cas," Dean breathed out, always trying to regain some upper hand, even from the bottom. "Like you were starving." It had only been a couple of minutes, but Castiel pulled back, pushing a third finger in. This time, Dean couldn't quite play off the burn, the stretch, he wasn't quite ready for. His shoulder shook, and his fingers spread out against the wall, trying to keep himself braced and upright. The sound, which he would deny until his final breath, was too high pitched, just on this side of painful, and the answering sound Castiel gave him was so primal that it made his stomach flutter.

"Oh, my apologies, Dean," Castiel groaned into his shoulder blades. His voice was dripping with sarcasm and lust, and Dean didn't whine at the sound of it. He totally didn't. "I thought you were adequately prepared, considering your mouth."

"You love my mouth."

"I love it more if it is too full to form coherent words."

"Oh, fucking hell, Cas."

"Are you ready or are you going to be a bitch about it?" Castiel asked, pressing his fingers against the gland and swear to God, Dean almost lost it.

There were things that Dean didn't know about himself until he had met Castiel. For example, that this could feel awesome at all. And Dean had always known he sort of liked the borderline shaming dirty talk when he watched Busty Asian Beauties, but he'd never thought _he'd_ like to hear himself be shamed. He would have never thought that another man, three fingers deep, calling him a _bitch_ would get to him like it did, but oh, Christ did it get to him.

Especially in Castiel's deep voice. Especially half insane with his own desire, but despite the taunt, he was still stretching Dean because he knew. After so many years, Castiel knew the give and take of Dean's body. He knew how much preparation it would take to be one side of painful or the other. Even after the taunt, Castiel spent more than enough time with Dean, to make sure he wouldn't hurt him, pressing kisses against his back and complaining about how he wished they had the time to be naked, so he could press their skin together, bite him and mark him because soon… soon Dean would be his.

And it was the deep, possessive, "Mine," that had Dean whimpering, using his arms and hips to push back against Castiel's fingers.

"Seriously, you've got to hurry, Cas, or else…" but Dean never got to finish his sentence. The fingers were pulled from his body so quickly, he almost would have thought Castiel had been grabbed by the shoulder and ripped away, but it only took another second of fumbling – audible hissing and the sound of the small, plastic bottle hitting one of the pantry's wooden shelves – before Dean felt the press of Castiel between him. The man hand a death grip low on Dean's hip, where his hip met his leg and it was better to expose himself and offer more room for Castiel, and Dean breathed in with anticipation.

The first push was easier with his lungs filled with air, and Castiel knew that. He waited for the inhale, and Dean let the breath escape – steady and even over his parted lips – as Castiel moved into him.

Oh, Christ, Dean thought, because thinking was totally different than saying it aloud. By the time Castiel had pushed fully into him, Dean was sweating. He could feel it in his pores, like his sweat glands were crying from exertion, and when Castiel used his free hand to run up his spine; Dean felt the way the man's palm moved without resistance.

Christ, he was going to soak through his shirt and that was going to be impossible to hide later on.

He was given a moment's notice before Castiel started to move in him. His fiancé's hand left Dean's back so he could push his own shirt and suit jacket up his torso, careful of making a mess. The first drag out was always something incredible – like Dean's body was clinging to Castiel and trying to keep him in there at any cost – but against rationality, the push back in was so much smoother.

It had always been like that. It never mattered how quickly or roughly Castiel thrust back inside the man, the discomfort almost always came from the pull out. But it was also so fucking good.

Especially like this. Dean's hands were on the wall like he was getting frisked or something, pressing back so his elbows locked. It was safer than relying on his biceps – which would inevitably give out and slam his face against the wall – and he could feel his shoulder blades popped from his back, the arch in his lower back would be throbbing with effort if the pair of them managed to last another five and a half minutes. His leg was up, angled, with enough give in his posture so he could push back to meet his fiancé's thrusts.

And Castiel was divine. He knew the tempos Dean liked, he knew the build of it, and he knew the places on Dean's hips and thighs to press his thumbs and fingers into hard enough to make the man cry out. He knew Dean's body like he had built it himself from scratch, knitting together the flesh and the muscle and keeping intimate knowledge of the most sensitive parts. He knew instinctively when to slow down or speed up, when to go shallow or deep.

Or like now, he knew when they were getting close, and his arm slid around to Dean's front, fingers closing around Dean, and all the man could do in response to it was hang his head and let out a moan far too loud for a church.

It didn't take long, less than a minute after Castiel took him in his hand, Dean would bet, before his fingers bunched into fists on the wall, and he felt his body tense before his release. It was like some huge hand was grabbing over his entire body and squeezing, he could feel the strain of it in his arms and back and even in his feet. Another couple of seconds passed, where Dean's knees and arms fought to keep him upright, and he felt Castiel still behind him, breathing out the sound of his own release.

There were a few heartbeats that passed with no movement. When Castiel did finally slip free, Dean bowed his back, trying to work out the kinks that had already started to settle there. Despite what everyone thought, he wasn't a teenager anymore. Simple aches and pains were the worst part about growing up.

Before Dean was even completely back in his head, he could feel the tissue on him, and he let his elbows unlock, bringing his forehead to rest against the pantry wall. "You had tissues in your pocket too?" Dean asked, smiling stupidly into the wall. "What else you got back there for us to use?"

"It's a wedding, Dean. Nobody would ask why I had tissues in my pocket. Most people would assume a few tears on the happiest day of a person's life is quite normal."

Castiel, being the angel he was, even helped Dean step into and pull up his pants. Once Dean turned around, he couldn't help grinning at Castiel's state of disarray. There was no way in hell they'd be able to hide what they were doing.

Castiel tucked in Dean's shirt and did up his pants and belt while Dean tried to fix Castiel's hair into some semblance of order. The smaller man started cleaning himself off and working himself back into his clothes. Dean was putting his shoes back on, still eyeing the other man. Castiel threw away what could be tossed and pocketed the little bottle sitting on the stand. Once they tidied up the room a bit, nobody would have ever guessed they were there (without a black-light). And they even managed to clean up themselves too, well enough to fool most of the people at the wedding.

Sam and Lucifer? No fucking way. But hopefully those dickheads would keep it to themselves until after the actual ceremony.

Once they were dressed, Dean eyed his fiancé. The man was looking at his watch, a small frown on his face. "Our wedding should be starting right now."

"We're late?" Dean asked, reaching around Castiel to grab for the door. Castiel caught his wrist, a smile forming on his lips.

"I told you, it is our wedding and they have to wait for us." The smile on Castiel's face grew into something wide and beautiful and loving, and then Castiel's hands found Dean's shoulders. For a second, he kept them there, feeling the strong muscles hidden under his jacket. The slid up the side of his neck, thumbs on his jaw, angling the man's face toward him. "I apologize, Dean. In my haste, I do not think I told you how handsome you look in your suit. You're right. That shade of green really brings out your eyes."

"Crowley helped," Dean said, dropping his eyes down to Castiel's vest and tie which were the same in every way except the color. "And I mean, your blue is…"

"Anthony helped with mine as well," Castiel said, hands still on Dean's face. For once, the mention of his best friend's name didn't trigger the guilt. His smile didn't falter. He kept looking at Dean, and Dean knew he wasn't thinking about anyone else but the two of them, there and then in that moment. "I would also like to apologize that in my haste, I forgot to kiss you."

"Hasty, hasty," Dean whispered, eyes rising from the man's chest to his lips. He licked his own – completely subconsciously – in anticipation.

"Might I now?"

"Obviously."

So Castiel did. He guided Dean in, and it wasn't more than a press of the lips. It was chaste and loving, somewhat in contrast to what they had just been doing, but fuck if Dean cared about any of that. Fuck if he cared about anything right then.

"Let's not keep them waiting anymore," Dean murmured against his fiancé's lips.

"Yes, Dean."

So Dean took Castiel's hand and led him out of the pantry, out of the kitchen, and back into the hall, making his way toward the sanctuary. It would have been perfect, a nice little private reason to start the wedding a few minutes late, if everyone wasn't waiting out there: the groomsmen and bridesmaids on both sides and both best men. Eight of their friends were in the hall, leaning against the wall, looking mildly bored but grinning once the couple came into view.

Dean groaned instantly, knowing what was about to happen.

"Sometimes…" Sam started.

Lucifer sang, "Aaa-oo-OO-oh."

"… something beautiful happens in this world…"

"Aaaaaakon."

"…And you don't know how to express yourself so…"

"And Lonely Island!"

"…You gotta sing."

All eight of them – Gabriel, Jo, and Bobby on Dean's side, Rafi, Balthazar, and Meg on Castiel's, including Sam and Lucifer, of course – started singing way too loudly for a church: _"I just had sex and it felt so good!"_

Before they (or worst, Castiel) could continue on, Dean just gripped his fiancé's hand and tugged him through the crowd of them. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's just get this wedding back on track."

And besides a few snickers, it seemed like the joke died down quick enough. Well, besides the high five Lucifer gave Castiel, but you know what, fuck the Novaks.

At least, that was the Winchesters' motto in life.

* * *

I didn't really like the smug look on Dean's face, his arms crossed, as he looked over at Sam and Lucifer. The pair of them were frowning, like they were planning on adding another scene later on so they could one-up Dean and Castiel. The four of them started bickering with each other, so I scrolled up through my notes, running a hand through my hair, feeling way too hot, even with the air conditioner on.

Gabriel had finally abandoned my back, but he was sitting next to me at the table, his mouth closing around a Milky Way, frowning at my notes. I watched his eyes dance across the MacBook, frowning and chewing, and I wondered if he knew he had caramel smeared over his lips.

After a moment, Gabriel looked up at me and smiled. "You didn't use the word cock."

I tugged my t-shirt away from my chest, frowning at the table. God, couldn't they feel how freaking hot it was in here? "Can we seriously just get back to the wedding?"

* * *

It actually took another couple of minutes before they could walk down the aisle. Rafi and Meg cleaned the grooms up just a bit more, so the guests would never guess why the wedding started late, but soon enough, Castiel was standing just outside the doors, his brothers and sisters and friends pairing up for their walk down the aisle.

Luckily, they all managed to pair themselves off and get into an order.

Castiel had wanted everyone paired off based on their sex, but Gabriel and Balthazar threw a fit. At first, Castiel thought it was because they both wanted to walk Jo down the aisle and not their sister, but Dean came back from a lunch date with Gabriel and begged Castiel to let the brothers walk down together.

Castiel had gotten a little annoyed, trying to claim tradition rules, but Dean just frowned and said, "Wasn't too long ago that we couldn't even get married, Cas. Who cares about tradition?"

And the way Gabriel and Balthazar were fighting each other for who was threading whose arm through the other's elbow, Castiel begrudgingly agreed with Dean, even if he did hiss, "You don't need to touch each other at all. Just walk side by side."

Rafi and Jo were giggling behind them – the Novak girl in blue, the Harvelle girl in green – with matching bouquets with both colors in their hands. And behind them, Meg was actually behaving. She had called him the day after their bachelor party and apologized, but she hung up before Castiel could ask her what she was apologizing for. Dean wouldn't tell him what she had done either. All he said was that he had talked to her. Whatever he said must have worked because she was running around like it was her wedding, making sure everyone was doing exactly what they were supposed to be.

She gripped Bobby's arm with a smile. She was terrifying.

For a moment, Castiel watched as Lucifer got on his knees in his spot after Bobby and Meg and before the flower girl and ring bearer to fix Samandriel's tie. Just behind them, Sam listening to Claire talk about how Michael's church said she couldn't throw flowers, but Rafi and Jo made her a nice bouquet just like theirs.

And even though his heart was clenching in his chest – he was happy and excited and nervous all at once – he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. Someone was missing. And when he realized who it was, whom he was missing, he couldn't help but feel alone and empty.

The music changed, and Castiel stood with Dean, watching as Gabriel and Balthazar make a mockery of themselves as they walked down the aisle together, holding hands and pretending to cry. Castiel crossed his arms over his chest. It felt wrong now. It felt off. And it wasn't because his brothers had insisted of making fools of themselves.

There was no father walking a bride down the aisle. And Castiel had never figured he'd get married, but even when he had the audacity to hope, it had always been to a man. If he was honest, it was always to Dean. There were never brides in his fantasy – nobody was ever given away – and Dean and Castiel had talked about it. Castiel didn't want Jimmy to give him away because that would imply that Jimmy had owned him or had any real say in what Castiel chose to do in his life. Dean took one look at his father and shook his head. He loved his dad, but no way in fucking hell was he going to be embarrassed walking arm and arm with the ex-marine at his big gay wedding.

Jo and Rafi hadn't planned on touching each other, but at the last second, Jo grabbed the older girl's hand, and the pair of them walked out after Gabriel and Balthazar.

But Castiel would have let someone give him away, and he needed to share. It was swelling in his chest, coming up his throat, but he managed to hide his own desire for his mother in the form of a question. "Would you have let Mary walk you down the aisle?"

Dean turned away from Rafi and Jo, throwing a small smile in Castiel's direction. "To be honest, if my mom were still here, I don't know if we would be."

Castiel wasn't aware of his facial reaction to that statement – though his heart had burst and there was a monster tearing at his diaphragm and liver and maybe his pancreas – but he knew he must have made one by Dean's instant reaction. Castiel was curled up in Dean's arms, the taller man murmuring his apologies against Castiel's hair.

"That's not what I meant. All I meant was if my mom didn't die, my dad would have probably been around. We wouldn't have needed money. I might have been a better student; I might not have been in your Chem class. I love you, Cas. And I'm fucking proud to be marrying you. My mom would have loved you."

Castiel couldn't stop his shaking. They never talked about their mothers aside from a quick _she was beautiful_ and Castiel regretted it now. He couldn't find the words to express to his almost husband how much he wanted his mother there, sharing this moment with them. The only words that came out were, "I miss her, Dean."

Bobby started walking down the aisle with Meg.

"I know, Cas. I miss mine too. But Anna's looking down on you..."

"Or up. Dante said that suicide..."

"Don't you fucking start on that," Dean hissed, holding Castiel away from his chest to glare at him. "Your mother isn't in hell. She was an angel, Cas. Just like you."

"You never even met her."

"No, but your brothers talk. And believe it or not, I listen. And let me tell you, if anything they said about her is true, she wouldn't miss this. They say you were her favorite."

That, at least, got Castiel to smile. "Parents don't have favorites."

"Sure they do," Lucifer suddenly chimed in. He hit his brother's shoulder before taking the arm Sam was offering him. The younger Winchester started leading the older Novak down the aisle, but Lucifer turned back to say, "They didn't name you for the devil."

Sam pulled his arm and hissed, "Angel." They were too far down the aisle for anything else to be said after that.

With Lucifer and Sam gone, Samandriel and Claire looked up to the grooms for their direction. Castiel stepped away from Dean, leaning over to talk to the children until their brothers made it half away down the aisle. Then he stood back up and nodded them on. Samandriel walked like he was really balancing something on the pillow, and Claire imitated her older sister and Jo, keeping her shoulders back. Castiel could imagine the huge smile on his youngest sister's face.

Dean touched his arm, letting his hand rest there for a moment before he offered his arm. Castiel took it. Dean started walking his fiancé down the aisle.

* * *

At every wedding I'd ever been to, somebody was always way over emotional. At Lisa Braeden's wedding it was her mother. At Kali's cousin Ganesh's wedding, it had been the maid of honor, weirdly.

As Dean and Castiel stood side-by-side at the end of the church, Michael held his Bible to his chest with one arm and dabbed his eyes with the other.

"Dearly beloved," Michael's voice shook. He paused, cleared his throat and went on. Castiel offered an encouraging smile, and even Dean gave a little nod. "We are gathered here today to witness the joining together of these two souls…"

For once, every one of the members of the bridal party was behaving. On Dean's side, the men stood with the arms behind their back and Jo stood with her flowers in her hand. Castiel's party did it on his side too. I couldn't help but look over them from my seat, admiring the way they had picked a perfect shade of green and blue for everything, the dresses, the vests and ties, even the flowers. On Dean's side they were all green, and on Castiel's they were completely blue.

Michael wore all black.

To be honest, weddings tend to follow a certain pattern. And when Michael went on talking, quoting Song of Songs – _Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth_ – I let my eyes wander. First, I was just trying to see who I knew in the crowd. Pretty much everyone, thanks to Gabriel, so I started looking at the altar and the cross.

It was then that the stained glass window on the wall just above the cross caught my eye.

I had seen the thing a hundred times – Gabriel liked to drag me to church with him – but I had never really paid any attention to it before. Four years ago, that window had been blown out in a tornado. It was the only thing touched in the whole church, and Balthazar had begged Michael to let him design the new window. In the end, the elder brother couldn't deny his siblings anything, and so Balthazar got to work.

The window was longer than it was tall and the previous one had been a simple pattern with a lot of alternating colors. Balthazar had gone for something different. The bottom was the ground and the top was the sky. The first line in the Bible spread across the horizon in black, separating the green and the blue: "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth."

I don't know how long I was lost in the image, to be honest. I was trying to get the words right. I even took out my notebook and started scribbling lines and ideas down, trying to make it all come together. I needed to write a novel to get my MFA in Creative Writing and every idea I had so far sucked.

So I took the image and I tried to run with it.

I had all these ideas. Ideas about divine creations created in the same breath. They were completely dependent on each other – the earth couldn't sustain life without the sky's oxygen, and without the earth's gravity, the atmosphere would dissipate into the universe – but they never seemed to touch. They always seemed up and down, and only ever seemed to meet on the horizon.

But anywhere a person looked, there was a horizon.

So maybe they were always touching – always desperately clinging to one another – because without the other, they wouldn't be themselves anymore. They would be engulfed in the darkness of space. They would die.

The thought of two people like that… now _that_ would make a really good story.

I started trying to think up names and characters, but Kali elbowed me and pointed me back toward the couple up front and the wedding I was missing.

Dean took Castiel's hand, getting the ring from Sam behind him. Even from where I sat, I could see the way Dean traced his thumb over the outside of Castiel's palm, nodding long before Michael even finished the question. "Do you, Dean, take this man to be your partner in life and love, committed to one another's joy and sustenance, from this day forth so long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Dean said, sliding the ring onto Castiel's finger. The words were simple, and out of context, they meant nothing. But I had never seen so much joy on Castiel's face. Certainly not at two simple words. When Dean looked back up after putting the ring on, his hands contracted around the other man's; a serious expression crossing his face for a moment before he couldn't contain it anymore. He mirrored Castiel's grin, and the pair of them could have blinded the church.

Michael waited for their hands to switch – for Castiel to grab the ring from Lucifer and take Dean's hand – before he turned to his brother and repeated the same question: "Do you, Castiel, take this man to be your partner in life and love, committed to one another's joy and sustenance, from this day forth so long as you both shall live?"

There was a pause, just a moment too long, and Kali grabbed my hand. But then Castiel reached up, ran his thumb over Dean's cheek, just under his eye. The taller man let out an embarrassed chuckle, and the whole church let out a sigh when Castiel wiped Dean's tear off on his pants and slid the ring onto the man's finger. His voice was hoarse, like he was crying too, but the words were clear. "I do."

"Then, by the power vested in me as a child of God, I now pronounce you partners in life," The pair of them were still looking at each other, hands grasped in each other's hands. I wondered if they would even hear Michael say, "What are you waiting for? Go ahead and kiss."

I had known the pair of them when they were in my chemistry class together. I'd seen them at their early highs and their addled lows. I saw the looks Dean snuck in mine and Castiel's direction after they'd broken up, and I became the dark haired man's new lab partner. I could remember the way Castiel never wrote my name next to his on the top of our lab reports. I remember how he always wrote Dean's. And back then, I remembered wondering how they could possibly be so bent out of shape about it. They were in high school. People broke up all the time in high school. Nobody could love so ferociously that it would be that consuming once it was over.

But I had been wrong. And looking at the way Dean put his arm over Castiel's lower back, and the way the shorter man's hand latched around Dean's forearm and clung to him, just below his elbow – the way that Dean leaned in, eyes half lidded and murmured something to Castiel, something that made the man give a small laugh right before he kissed him for the first time as a married couple – I knew I had been wrong.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present to you my brothers: Dean and Castiel Winchester," the people stood and clapped as the couple walked back down the aisle, hands clinging to each other. Their grins were wide; they were happy and in love. After they left the church, I sat back down.

I didn't know if it was some sort of fate or destiny, like two people who used to be joined but had been ripped apart by an angry god, doomed to a lonely search for their missing half. I didn't know if it was a study in forgiveness and human compassion and what would be possible if we forgave others and ourselves of every transgression. I didn't know if they were the sky and the ground that I was looking for.

But I did know it would make a damn good story.

* * *

Balthazar and Gabriel were the first two at the receiving line because they were technically in the party. Castiel and Dean were still smiling at each other – neither of the parents would stand outside the church with them in the receiving line, but Lucifer and Sam stood guard on either side of them like particularly adorable bouncers – and apparently, Gabriel got tired of waiting for his hug.

It would sort of set a running joke for the rest of the day, when Gabriel grabbed Castiel's face and turned and yanked. Castiel managed to duck him at the last second, and the awkward attempt of a full-on-the-mouth kiss turned into an awkward hug, and Dean laughed at the look of confusion on Castiel's face.

"What the hell, Gabriel?" Castiel asked, keeping his chin at Gabriel's shoulder in case he made another move for his mouth again if it were available.

He felt the rumble of laughter though the man's body and when Gabriel pulled back, the threat had been neutralized. "You were ignoring me," he stated simply, as if that were a total rational reason to kiss someone on the face. Gabriel moved to hug Dean, and Balthazar placed his hands on the side of Castiel's face.

Luckily, Balthazar wasn't as committed to it, and Castiel had an easier time of deflecting him. "Congratulations," his younger brother said, clasping Castiel's shoulders before moving off to the side to wait for his wife and son.

A ton of people were at the wedding – not as many as were at the bachelor party, thank God – but Dean and Castiel had managed to get quite a few friends along the way. Pretty much anyone who knew Dean also knew Castiel and vise versa, so there weren't any real introductions other than their friends' dates.

Castiel wasn't worried about remembering their names. Instead, he was keeping a look out for each member of his family. After Gabriel and Balthazar passed, he assumed the joke was over. That wasn't the case. He let Rafi kiss his forehead – she hadn't even gone for his lips – but then he had to dodge off Michael in an attack so swift and precise, Michael would have gotten him if Lucifer hadn't called out to him first and took away the reverend's element of surprise.

Zachariah put his hands on Castiel's face, but he was either scared off by the pathetic look or was aware how weird the whole thing was because he pulled back before tugging him into a hug instead.

All of the Novaks drew Dean into tight, familial hugs. Dean was close to all of them; he really was like their brother. And Castiel was bitter that none of them tried to kiss Dean. Well, one Novak attempted. Castiel had let Claire kiss his cheek, but when Dean picked her up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a huge kiss right on the lips.

Her brothers cheered her success and when Dean let her down, she pounded Gabriel's fist.

Even Castiel was smiling.

"Well, hell," Dean said, turning around to the Novaks rubbernecking behind him and Castiel. "Might as well give both of my new sisters a kiss."

Rafi flushed, her eyes wide, and she stuck her hand out to push him away. Dean grabbed her wrist, and with the help of Balthazar pushing her back, she ended up close enough to Dean where he could kiss her. There was another cry from the Novak crowd. And when Rafi broke free, she looked mildly angry and frazzled but more delighted than Castiel felt comfortable admitting to himself.

For a moment, he wondered if his sister had been harboring a secret crush on his husband back when they were teenagers. Dean was grinning at him when he looked back up and asked, "Aw, Cas. No need to be jealous. We're married now. I won't fool around with your siblings anymore."

"Yeah right," Gabriel said. "It's my turn now, big boy."

Dean grinned, doing a damn good impression of Gabriel's eyebrow wiggle before Castiel grabbed his arm and turned him to face the people they were supposed to be receiving. "Only Uriel is left to dodge. And I swear, there will be no more kisses on the lips unless they are you and m–"

Castiel's eyebrows shot down, his face contorting into a grimace as he was kissed. Dean and the Novak traitors were laughing, and Castiel was pushing against a pair of strong shoulders. They weren't his brother's shoulders. This man was too tall to be Uriel. Castiel pushed harder, and the man moved away, laughing. Before Castiel even opened his eyes, he knew who it was.

"Benny."

"All I heard was that the angel wanted to be kissed, so who am I to deny him after he so graciously used me to piss his boyfriend off?" Benny grinned. He was one of the few people who had looked like he was twenty-something in high school. It worked well for him, because he hadn't aged a day. He turned to look at Dean – the other man was grinning up at his friend – and within a second they were hugging.

There was a shorter man standing next in line with dark hair and huge brown eyes, and Castiel grumbled, "I said no more kisses," before turning his attention to him. He stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Castiel. It's nice to meet you."

The man took Castiel's hand, then wrapped his other hand around their hands. "I am Andrea," he said, Italian accent present even though Castiel could tell he had been speaking English regularly for most of his life. "Congratulazioni."

Castiel smiled. "Grazie. Permette che mi presenti…"

"Andrea?" Dean asked, practically knocking Benny away to turn his attention to the other man. "Dude, you found Andrea?"

"Fuck yeah I found Andrea," Benny said, wrapping his arm around the smaller man. "You think I'd come to a wedding with just anyone? Look." The man held up his left hand, a solid gold ring decorating his finger. Andrea smiled and held up his hand too.

"You found Andrea and you fucking married him?" Dean asked, half yelling as he pulled Benny back into a hug. "Why and the hell didn't you tell me that?"

"I only just found him six months ago," Benny said. "You know I joined the Navy cause what the hell else do I know other than ships and fucking men, you know? I was stationed in Italy and guess who was bored to death working in a library."

Andrea sighed, and Castiel had never sympathized with anyone the way he did now. Dean told their story that way too, like he was some hero who had saved Castiel. Which, okay, maybe that was really true. But Castiel did a bit of his own saving too.

"Long story short, two months later I was being shipped back off to Louisiana and if he wanted to move on base with me, we had to elope."

"I had never even left Europe," Andrea said. "There was nothing left for me there. And when he left the first time I was devastated."

"I've been to Europe once," Castiel said. "It was beautiful."

"Yes, but have you ever walked down Bourbon Street when you've already had too much to drink? All of the sounds and the lights. New Orleans is a beautiful city."

"No," Castiel admitted. "I've never been there."

"Many people sound like him there," Andrea asked, grinning over at Benny.

Benny rolled his eyes. "I told you. Everyone digs the pretty little voice. We're holding up the line, I'll see you boys later at the reception."

The line got moving again.

Much to Castiel's delight, Uriel had forgotten the plan and just hugged his brother. It was toward the end of line – after the Novaks who weren't in the party had left to make sure everything was being set up at Balthazar's for the reception properly – that Castiel heard, "Oh no he didn't," and turned to see Jess break away from her date and grab Sam's hand.

She held up his ring finger, open mouthed at the band resting around it. "Oh hell no, Sam Winchester. Are you telling me that he asked you and you didn't tell me?"

"It happened like three days ago, Jess," Sam shrugged, but he was blushing. He always managed to blush when the girl talked about him and Lucifer. Nobody was a bigger fan of that coupling than she was. "We were busy."

"Busy planning a wedding without me?"

"No, busy with theirs," Sam said, nodding toward his brothers. "Dean, Cas, you remember Jess?"

"Yeah, they do. Hey guys. Mozel tov," she said, offering a smile before dropping her eyes back to the ring. "Did he say that he liked it and he wanted to put a ring on it, cause that's what he told me he was going to say."

"He told me he was going to say _'Shawty, I'mma only tell you this once, you the illest,'_ " Castiel said, grinning back at Lucifer who didn't really look all that pleased all of the sudden.

"Did you see the ring Sam got me?" he asked, extending his own hand. Jess just waved him away.

"Obviously. Besides, you really missed out, bro. Oh, Sam's proposal was going to be so romantic," Jess crooned, grinning up at her friend. "How did he do it?"

"Waited until I got drunk and was puking."

"I hate you so much right now," Lucifer hissed. He looked like he was about to storm off, but then he remembered the pictures they had to take before the reception and just crossed his arms and rocked on his heels. "We'll see you at the reception, Jess."

"Oh, don't be such a prima donna," Jess said, shrugging past Sam to hug Lucifer. He pretended to be tense for another few moments but really he liked anyone who adored him, and Jess had always been a good friend to the pair of them. She was a third wheel that wasn't really needed, because the bike was totally stable by itself, but she definitely had her moments of stabilization. "But fine, I'll go. See you boys later. Congrats again. All four of you Winchesters."

After she left with Brady, Dean frowned and said, "I want a fangirl. Where do we get one?"

"You wouldn't like one, Dean," Castiel said. "I hear they mean well but they're the biggest cockblocks in the universe."

"That's so true," Sam said. Lucifer just groaned.

* * *

An hour later, the two of them were being introduced again in Balthazar's back yard at the reception. And like I said about the wedding, if you had been to one reception, you've been to them all. First dances, speeches… well actually, it didn't have speeches. Not really.

Instead, after the first dance – and the second dance – Lucifer didn't make a toast. He was standing up near the DJ tent with an acoustic guitar. There was an arsenal of instruments behind him. All the instruments Castiel had seen a week ago in the living room had been moved outback for the reception, but Lucifer had his guitar, the one Sam had given him eight and a half years ago.

He spoke into the microphone, even though he could project loud enough for everyone to hear him. "Uh, yeah. Hi. I'm Lucifer Novak, Castiel's best man, and instead of giving my toast in a traditional way, Sam and I decided it would be so much more fun if we sang a song that really encompassed how the grooms feel about each other, and how we, as the grooms' brothers, feel about the union of our families. Besides, I'm a pretty crappy public speaker, and there is nothing that I could say about my little brother that he doesn't already know and there is nothing I could say to my new brother that I haven't already threatened. So instead… Sam, if you wouldn't mind."

Sam stood from his place next to Dean and crossed the grass toward the DJ tent. He pulled the glockenspiel out from its hiding place, and made sure the drums were cleared as well. Then Lucifer started playing.

I could see the way Castiel smiled, letting his hand fall over Dean's on the table.

" _Hold on to me as we go. As we roll down this unfamiliar road. And although this wave is stringing us along."_ Michael stood from his seat and joined Lucifer and Sam at the tent. He started adding the drum beats as Lucifer continued to sing. _"Just know you're not alone, cause I'm gonna make this place your home."_

From the other side of the yard, Uriel was sitting at another table with a guitar. He started playing along, as Sam came in to join Lucifer: _"Settle down, it'll all be clear. Don't pay no mind to the demons, they fill you with fear."_

Balthazar and Gabriel stood from their seats at the bridal party table, clapping along to the beat and adding some _oooh_ s as they walked to the dance floor. _"The trouble it might drag you down, if you get lost you can always be found. Just know you're not alone, cause I'm gonna make this place your home."_

There was just vocalizing in the song for a long moment, and it started with just Gabriel and Balthazar. When the _ooh_ s changed to louder _ah_ s, Rafi, Zachariah, Claire, Samandriel, and everyone's partners stood and made their way to the center of the room. They sang together, the extended Novak clan. They held hands and swayed, dancing around each other like they used to sing songs of praises. Their voices lifted to the heavens, formally inviting Dean into the covenant they shared as a family.

By the end of the second repeat, they had gone to get Dean and Castiel, dragging them by the hand to join in with the dance. Rafi wiped the tears away from Castiel's cheeks and held his hand as they spun in a circle. At the end of the song, everyone clapped, even Lucifer and Sam and the Novaks and their partners, and Dean and Castiel just held each other and kissed on the dance floor.

But other than that, this reception was just like any other. It had dances, and toasts (sort of), and starving grooms. This one had it all.

Especially starving grooms. Every time Castiel tried to eat a little bit of his dinner, one of his brothers dinked his fork against the champagne glass and yelled out, "Kiss, kiss!" To which Castiel would grumble – and Dean found Castiel's annoyance hilarious, by the way – and the pair of them would kiss. He wouldn't get a bite to eat until the cake, and most of that ended up on his face anyway.

He was starving by the time people started just relaxing and having fun and dancing. For one moment of contentedness, Castiel was able to sit down at one of the tables in the back, leaning against the chair, eating a piece of cake like it was his lifeline. The noises he was making on the other side of my table were a little too sexual and unholy for my liking, and I couldn't help but look up at him.

Never in my life had I seen anyone so happy to be eating.

A moment later, Dean sat down next to him with a slice of apple pie – because if some brides can have their own freaking cake than Dean Winchester could beg Hester to make him a pie as a wedding present, god damn it – and the pair of them shared a silent look of blissful exhaustion, before they continued on with their food.

I wondered why they both decided to choose my table to sit down at. Despite the fact that I had been at all their family gatherings for the past couple of years because I had no family left and Gabriel said it was a sin not to be with family on the holidays, Dean and Castiel and I never really had a big heart to heart. They'd never said anything about the two months that Lisa and I spent as their buffer. They never offered me an explanation or an excuse. Everything I knew about them, I knew because of Gabriel.

And let me tell you, I wasn't really sure all of it was true.

Plus, it made it very awkward for me to try and think of everything I knew about the couple for my book if they were actually sitting down in front of me. They were supposed to be inspiration for other characters. When they were sitting this close to me, I couldn't separate the fact that what I knew of their past had truly happened to them.

And it was heartbreaking.

Luckily for me, it didn't last long. Just as Castiel was finishing his slice of cake, the microphone hummed to life again and Lucifer's voice spread out across the yard. "Yes, yes, another congratulations to the happy couple. From this point until the end of the night, we thought it would be fantastic if anyone would like to request a song for them. Also, thanks to Mickey, we pretty much have a whole band up here under the DJ tent, so if any of you are musically inclined and would like to sing your love to the Winchesters, please feel free to do so. This first one is from me, and I know it will strike a chord of love in your heart."

There was a reason Castiel had requested a DJ, and he hadn't exactly been happy to find all of Michael's band room (and the adjoining orchestra room) under the DJ tent because his brothers wouldn't be able to withstand the temptation. There would be a Novak karaoke contest going on at his reception in thirty minutes or less, and Castiel stood to go talk some sense into his brother, when he placed the song.

" _Maybe I need some rehab, or maybe just need some sleep."_

"Is he kidding me?" Castiel asked, turning back to look at Dean.

His husband just smiled, abandoning the last bite of pie on his plate so he could stand up and take Castiel's hand. "Hey, c'mon, Cas. This is how they show their love. God knows I knew they were all friggin crazy, and I still chose to marry into it. The least you can do is pretend to enjoy the attention."

"I do not enjoy the attention, though. It is strange to me that all these people came out and gave us presents and money just because we're choosing to honor our longstanding commitment to each other," Castiel frowned. "And this song was a very inappropriate choice."

"Of course it's inappropriate, Cas. Lucifer picked it out. And the money and the stuff is the perk. They're just rewarding you for staying with my ass for seven years then committing to stay with it until the day you die. That decision deserves some presents let me tell you. But shut up, now, and dance with me."

Castiel started to smile, but forced it into a frown again when the chorus started. Dean just laughed and dragged him away to the open dance floor in the yard.

" _Because your love, your love, your love is my drug."_

* * *

Castiel had managed to drag his little sister away from Gabriel long enough to con her into a dance. He had her in his arms, and she had her arms wrapped around his neck. With Gabriel finally free, he was dancing with Kali, and Claire kept throwing them glances like she was being personally scorned by a relationship that was older than she was.

The new Winchester was about to open his mouth to talk to his younger sister when he felt a hand on his back. He turned to face whoever wanted to cut in, but it was John. He grinned at the girl and asked, "Do you know my son?"

She thought for a moment, eyes scanning the tables before frowning, "Sam or Dean?"

"Dean," John said, pointing over to where he was sitting with Charlie and Gilda, taking sips of champagne and laughing with the women. "He told me earlier that he thought you were very pretty today while you were walking down the aisle. He knew you were having fun with Gabe, but he was wondering if you'd dance with him a minute, when you got the chance."

"Sure," she said. "When this song is over and I'm done with Cassie."

But John had worked it out so the song was just ending. Castiel sat his sister down, and the flower girl ran up to Dean. The children loved Dean – he just had a way with kids that made Castiel ache with longing for children of his own – and the man looked happy and honored that Claire asked him to dance.

He picked her up easily, letting her fly for a moment in the air before he caught her. Claire, Charlie, and Gilda giggled, but Dean settled his new sister against his hip, waltzing with her to the dance floor.

"He'll make a good father," John said, letting his hand drop from Castiel's back. "Both of you will. Those damn kids of yours'll never know the pain the two of you had from the hands you were dealt with shit fathers."

"You love your boys," Castiel said. "And my dad loves us too."

"Yeah, but it's more than that. You'd die before you left your kids. You ain't your father. And Dean isn't me either, but I didn't break up your little dance just for chitchat. Ellen found this years ago, but she wouldn't let me have it until I sobered up. I always meant to give it to Dean, but then I moved in with Ellen and gave him the house. So I saved this for you," John held out his hand, and Castiel held out his. When John pulled his hand away, Castiel was left looking at a silver bracelet with several charms on it.

There were crosses and stars, holy symbols from different cultures. On one side, there was a small charm of an angel. Castiel held out his wrist and attempted to wrap the band around it and latch it on. He frowned, "it's too small."

"I thought it might be," John said, a small frown coming on to his face as well. "You can hang it up next to the frame of her and Dean. I know it isn't much, but the fire destroyed so many of her things. It might have been why I lost it… I was left with a handful of photos, barely any clothes. Nothing that reminded me of her except every shadow in the house and two small boys crying for their mother. This would have been ruined too, but she had left it at Ellen's the week before."

"I love it, John. Thank you."

"She left a necklace there, too. I'm going to give that to Lucifer when they get married," John turned, watching as Sam danced with Samandriel while Lucifer annoyed the both of them, poking his nephew and hiding behind Sam. "I'm just really proud of all of you. The shit you all had to go through, the fact that you ended up here. I'm proud you share my last name. I'm proud that you're going to be the one who loves my grandkids. I'm just proud, Cas. Of all four of you. Of my four sons."

John left after that, and Castiel walked up to Bela. He showed her the bracelet and the two of them disappeared inside. A few moments later, Claire was dancing with Kali, the two of them giggling about Gabriel as he pouted behind them. Whatever Dean had said to her must have worked, because suddenly Kali and Claire were thick as thieves. Dean was admiring his handiwork when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

When he turned around, Castiel held out the bracelet, and Dean took it, remembering it instantly. He held it in his hands, thumb tracing over the little charms, but one was missing. A little silver angel.

Castiel had that charm on a chain around his neck. He would wear it under his clothes, always, as a reminder that Mary Winchester was always watching over him.

* * *

Meg was sitting next to Abaddon near the DJ tent. They hadn't really gotten over their fight, nobody had really apologized or anything, but they were just simmering on the backburner now. There wasn't the threat of immediate damage.

This time, they had fought because Abaddon had gotten a tattoo that made it look like her head had been chopped off then sewn back on to her neck again. It was a stupid reason to fight, and it wasn't the cause of the fight at all. They just fought. They were violent, sadistic people by nature, and they were both a bit broken.

Meg had the whole prostitution thing – which she wouldn't consider a negative, but was a deal breaker for pretty much everyone she knew besides Castiel and Abaddon – and the other girl was from a long line of hit men for some big crime family in Chicago. She'd only moved to Kansas to lay low after the leader of the mafia was locked up.

They both had their demons, but they were the only ones who would have each other. And Meg loved her. She loved Abaddon just like she loved Castiel, and then a bit more.

"Hey, Abby, did I ever say that your tattoo looks pretty cool?"

Abaddon rolled her eyes until she was looking at Meg, expecting to be baited into some new part of the fight but Meg just raised her eyebrows, hoping the expression she had seen on Castiel would look just as endearing on her. Whether or not it did, she didn't know, but at some level it must have worked, because Abaddon just said, "I knew you would like it."

"What do you think about that?" She asked nodding her head in the general direction of the wedding. "The flowers and the dancing and the dumb, expensive cake?"

Abaddon shrugged, "Whatever. Cool for them, right? Your boyfriend finally married his boyfriend. You gonna try to fuck him still?"

"No," Meg said. "I got you."

"Really?" Abaddon snorted. "You're gonna give me that crap? Everyone knows you're just a dirty whore, and I'm just a cold-blooded killer. We're only together cause otherwise we'd be alone and you know I hate waking up in a bed by myself. You'd fuck him if you were given half the chance, and that's cool with me, Meg. You know I've always been cool with your crush on your gay."

"Maybe before, but I don't want to fuck him now. You know, I hate waking up in a cold bed, too. But what's even worse is waking up in a warm bed next to someone who sucks. And you don't suck, Abby. We should keep waking up in bed next to each other."

"That has to be the lamest proposal since Lucifer shoved a ring at Sam while he was puking," Abaddon said, but she was grinning.

"I'm just saying, I never was the settling down type, you know. But I get why they're doing it. It's like what you said about love being a unicorn cause neither of them exist, and I didn't ever get it until just a couple of days ago, but you're my unicorn, Abby. And whatever happens, you pretty much always will be."

Meg expected a snarky reply, something sarcastic and mean, but when Abaddon looked up, she reached across the table and took Meg's hand. She didn't say anything about it, and the two of them didn't need to talk about it again. But after that break up, they never broke up again.

* * *

Dean was lurking inside; he just wanted a breather for like five minutes, when he felt someone behind him. When he turned, Jimmy was standing in the doorway with a frown on his face, his arms crossed over his chest, and Dean grinned, turning back to the sink and away from his father in law. "Have you come in here to threaten me, Saint Jimmy? I promised that I won't knock your son up until after we're married, but guess what just happened. Besides, we gotta consummate something tonight, right?"

Jimmy didn't say anything for a long moment. When he did, he cleared his throat first, asking, "Dean, could you please look at me when I speak to you?"

There was something in his voice. When Jimmy came back, he realized he had no control over his family and never pretended he did. He enjoyed their free will. He liked watching them ask for advice and make mistakes and learn from it. When he left again and married Amelia, he had been even calmer albeit more reserved.

He never seemed like he fit in with his massive family, but the man who could make his sons do anything he asked with a tone in his voice was gone. Dean shut off the water and turned to look at Jimmy, surprised by the directness of his request. Once Dean was facing him, Jimmy physically relaxed, breathing the tension out of his body with an exhale.

"I didn't come to threaten you. There is something I've needed to say to you for a long time, Dean. But every time I start to say it, I lose my nerve. But not this time," Jimmy walked across the room, putting his hands on Dean's shoulders to ground himself. He took another breath in, and said, "Thank you."

"Hey, no… I mean, I haven't done –"

"You're the single most humble person I have ever met, Dean, because you have. You've done so much for so many people. I have never seen Castiel as happy as he is today, and that's because of you. I lost him once, when I left. I could have lost him forever, but you found him Dean. And you cleaned him and helped him put his pieces back together. I owe you every morning that my son is still alive. Even though I wasn't there, I don't know what would have happened to me if I lost him. I…" Jimmy tied to back away, to duck around Dean and hide his tears, but the taller man wouldn't have it.

Instead, Dean just pulled Jimmy to him and held his father-in-law to his chest as he cried. All the while, he could hear the man whispering thank yous against him. Dean could only offer back, "You're welcome, Jimmy. Any time."

* * *

It was getting closer to the end of the night. Nobody was really left in the back of Balthazar's backyard but the Winchesters, the Novaks, the bridal party, and me. Well, Crowley and Phil were there too. Both of them were pretty hammered, thanks to Balthazar putting a bottle of wine down at their table an hour ago that was now completely gone.

To be honest, I couldn't understand their slurred accents. I assumed they weren't speaking in English.

The Novaks were still singing and dancing, it was what Novaks did best after all, and Castiel and Dean had joined them. The pair of them were moving together on the floor near Sam and Lucifer. Rafi was playing the guitar, and Missouri was singing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

" _Bless my heart, bless my soul."_

When the song changed, Jo walked up to the happy couple and tapped Dean's shoulder. She asked, "Can I cut in?"

"Sure," Dean said, opening his arms to let his stepsister move in to dance with him, but she ducked under his arm, wrapping her arms around Castiel's shoulder. The new Winchester smiled over her shoulder at Dean. The older man gave a good-natured grumble at the pair of them and walked away.

" _Didn't think I'd make it to twenty-two years old.  
There must be someone up above. Sayin'…"_

"I've been thinking a lot about it, Cas," Jo started, tightening her grip on his shoulders and refusing to meet his eye. "Like, I don't think I've ever thought about anything more in my entire life. And I think I made my decision."

Castiel's shoulders dropped, his voice defeated when he said, "Are you sure you don't want to think about it a little more, Jo? I mean… it's a big decision. And it's quite a bit of money, to be honest."

" _You gotta come on up. You gotta hold on."_

"No, I don't need to think anymore." She looked up at him. Her hands moved to the sides of his neck, and Castiel realized they'd stopped dancing. Jo was just holding him in the middle of the dance floor, and Castiel felt his heart sinking. "It's a lot of money, Cas. I still live with my mom and John, and I just want to get out on my own. I just… I could open my own business or go to school or… just…"

Castiel wasn't aware how hard his hands were gripping at Jo's hips. He couldn't read his own expression – he couldn't hear anything but the blood pumping in his ears – but he knew he had to be hurting her. But Jo just smiled a great big, blinding smile, threw up her arms, and said, "I wanted to tell you that I want to say yes!"

" _Bless my heart, bless yours too."_

"What?" Castiel asked, still holding the girl at arm's length.

"Yes, Cas," Jo said, throwing her arms around her step brother-in-law's neck, to bring their bodies together. She could feel his body shaking and it didn't take long for her to hear his sobs. His fingers were trembling at the small of his back, and she reached to try and sooth circles on his. "Yes, Cas. Yes."

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."

"You okay, Cas?" Dean asked, a concerned look on his face as he approached the pair.

Castiel looked up over Jo's shoulder and said, "She said yes."

" _There must be somebody up above, sayin'..."_

"No way, Jo, really?" Dean whispered, wrapping his arms around Jo and Castiel from behind, crushing the girl in a Winchester sandwich. After a moment they let her go, when Dean pulled back and cupped his husbands face in his hands. They kissed, and even though the pair of them had been kissing all night, this was the most memorable one.

They clung to each other like there was nothing more important than this moment. Dean was whispering words of encouragement and love between the kisses, and Castiel ignored his own tears to wipe away Dean's.

They had just gotten married hours ago, but I had never seen either of them as happy as they were in that moment.

" _You gotta get back up. You gotta hold on."_

* * *

Dean and Castiel stopped clenching each other and crying, but it took a while. Eventually, even the bridal party started going home and all that was left was a handful of stragglers that managed to make their way to my table. Dean was starting in on his cards, a little too drunk and sipping the champagne right from the bottle like the class act he was. He was looking through the cards for money the pair of them could use on their honeymoon. Castiel was exhausted, but giving little smiles as Dean read some of the cards aloud. Lucifer and Sam were still singing at the DJ tent, but not quite as loud because all the kiddos had been put to bed in Balthazar's house.

They were singing to each other. Well, Lucifer was, Sam was messing around with the auto-tuner while Lucifer sang, _"You, you're always holding on to stars. I think they're better from afar cause no one here's gonna save us."_

A bonfire had been lit not too far away from the table. Most of the older Novaks and their partners were warming themselves and socializing. Gabriel and Kali were being cute to my left, Balthazar was checking on the kids, and the only people who weren't brothers and sisters that were still outside were Crowley and Phil.

And they were only there because both of them were way too drunk to drive, so they were going to have to crash in the basement for the night. I wish I didn't hear Crowley whispering the things he'd like to do to Phil in his old room, but sadly, I did.

It was cut short when Dean held up an envelope and declared, "If I don't know this fucker's writing by heart, then I don't know my own. You better've gotten us something good, Crowley."

Crowley's arm was around Phil's and the blond man's blue eyes snapped from his boyfriend to Dean. The smaller man looked like an angel, full of love at the words Crowley was whispering to him, and I saw the way Dean grinned at the pair, secretly happy that even his nemesis – his archenemy of high school, the man who fed his boyfriend drugs and had sex with him for money – was happy.

"When don't I give you fantastic gifts? Have you seen the suits you desecrated before your holy communion? They're masterpieces!"

Dean just grinned at Crowley, likely a comment about how a framed picture of Benedict Cumberbatch caused Castiel to pout because Dean wouldn't let him hang it up in their bedroom died in his throat, and he ripped open the envelope carelessly. Gift cards fell out.

Dean frowned, and Castiel frowned too. Dean reached toward the gift cards, but Castiel reached toward the folded up slip of paper that fell out after them. Some were prepaid gas cards to be used at certain stations; other cards were prepaid American Express cards that could be used elsewhere, but all of them had a label: hotel, food, souvenirs, and attractions.

Castiel opened up the folded piece of paper, and frowned at the GoogleMap Image detailing the route from Lawrence, Kansas to Cleveland, Ohio with gas stations highlighted along the way and recent prices written in Crowley's writing. He flipped to the next page, and it looked like a printed receipt for a hotel. When Dean suddenly yelled, "No way," he shoved two tickets to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland under Castiel's nose.

"No way," Castiel repeated, taking the tickets and looking again at the map. The hotel and the museum were both within walking distance of each other. And on the third page, Castiel could see that there were even more detailed plans, including potential trips to the Hard Rock Café, an aquarium, some sort of chocolate bar, a botanical garden, and a museum of natural history.

"I wasn't sure what else you'd want to do in Cleveland, considering Ohio is the boob sweat region of the United States," Crowley said, and Phil snorted. I wasn't sure if either of them had ever even been to Ohio, but I imagined in all their trips back and forth to the states, they likely stopped for a layover there once or twice. I wondered what happened there that made them hate it so much.

You know, besides the obvious of it being Ohio.

Dean was adding up the money on the cards and he frowned, looking up at Crowley. "This is a thousand dollars, dude. We can't accept this for a present."

"One, you can and you will. Two, consider it a second honeymoon. It's not like school starts until September anyway, so you've got time for a road trip," Crowley shot a look at Phil, who nodded, then a look at Castiel. He was frowning, serious in a way that only really drunk people could get serious so quickly and said, "Besides, I think I've owed the two of you a thousand dollars for years now."

"Anthony," Castiel started, reaching across the table to touch the British man's hand, but Crowley just pulled it away.

"I know it isn't about the money. It was never about the money. And I know John gave you the house to say he was sorry. I know the two'a you said sorry a hundred times, or more likely danced around the actual apology in favor of politeness or some stupid backwards notion like that, but I need to repay you. And… Christ, you were worth so much more than I paid for you, Cas. I mean that."

Castiel looked touched, Dean looked like he was searching for words, but bless his heart, Phil laughed. His head collapsed in his arms, folded delicately across the table. His back was shaking in a desperate attempt to get oxygen into his lungs and pumping across to the other cells in his body. When he raised his head a few moments later, there were tears in his eyes. He tried his best to wipe them away.

"The speech you had planned was so much better, darling. 'You're worth so much more than I paid for you?' Christ, I would imagine even the drugged out girls deserved over a hundred dollars for having to lie there and take it from you," Phil's eyes were still shining with tears, and Crowley frowned at him.

"Fuck you," Crowley said, without any real venom. In fact, a grin was slowly breaking out over his lips.

To Phil's credit, he just grinned, leaned forward into Crowley's space and asked, "When?"

"Just another minute, there's something still in the envelope. The trip's for Dean. I mean, you can bring your husband if you want, or bring Sam, I don't fucking care, but Cas' present is in the thing still," Crowley leaned over, pressing his chin against Phil's shoulder. Phil turned back to Castiel, a smile forming on his face.

Dean handed his husband the envelope, and Castiel looked inside and pulled out a picture.

"I found it in one of my dad's photo albums. I don't remember it, but the photograph's proof, right?"

Anna Novak was in her twenties. She was in the kitchen in the Novak house. She had been cooking something, but somebody must have alerted her to the photograph because she was looking up, grinning at the camera. Crowley's mom was standing next to her, her arms wrapped around Anna and her head resting against her friend's shoulder. It was before the bouts in the mental institution, before the drugs. Crowley's mom had her hair up, she was wearing a nice, fine suit, and Castiel could remember that she used to be a businesswoman before Anna's sickness manifested and she turned to drugs to cope.

But on the floor, Castiel and Crowley were coloring. The boys were young – barely older than Byron was – and Crowley had stopped coloring to point at Castiel's book. The blue-eyed toddler was grinning back at Crowley.

"I thought you lived in England," Castiel said, eyes never leaving the picture.

"I did," he answered. "My mom must have had a business meeting in America and stopped over to see your mom. Who'da thought we went so far back, huh, angel?"

Castiel turned it over, finding the date. Crowley's mother had taken great care when she wrote on the photo, and Castiel knew the woman would have kept any picture of the two of them as a prized possession. He smiled, fingers tracing over their names on the back: _Castiel and Anna Novak. A.J. and Naomi Crowley._

"Thanks, Anthony," Castiel said, turning the picture around to get a look at the image once again. "I love it."

* * *

They were all sitting around the table talking, and I was trying my best to ignore them and focus on where to start my story. I would imagine that first day of school Dean's senior year was when it started because it was the first day they were lab partners, but I didn't know how to start it without knowing how it really started.

I had been writing by candlelight for hours but having them all sitting around, talking about the end of the story wasn't going to help me start it.

Dean was pretty drunk, but Castiel wasn't. Lucifer and Sam weren't either, but most of the rest of them had some sort of a buzz going.

For the first time in a long time, I hadn't drank. I was too focused on the story.

Dean was talking loudly about some subtext in _The Lord of the Rings_ with Gabriel, and my roommate was nodding along politely. He probably had heard it a thousand times before. But Dean was so loud that I almost didn't hear when his husband spoke up. "Is that your final novel for your MFA?"

I looked up, frowning at Castiel. "Me?"

"Yes, you. You are working on the last project for your MFA, right?"

"Yes, but… how did you know that?"

"Are you kidding me?" Dean asked, arm looped lazily over Castiel's shoulders. He leaned back, taking his husband with him. Castiel made a small sound of protest, but his brothers just laughed at him. "You are aware that by fucking my new baby brother, that makes you my new baby brother, too, right? Novaks don't wait for marriage."

"Hallelujah," Michael said, raising his glass.

"I'm…" I started, looking at Gabriel. The younger man was laughing, and he managed to offer a wink at me through his giggles. "We aren't…"

"Do not deny me three times before the cock you-know-whats," Gabriel said, wagging his finger. Then he tapped the table and grinned. "I said cock. Write that down in your notes. Exact wording. Only complete accuracy will do."

"I'm not writing about the wedding," I insisted, which was mostly true. I had finished up my notes on the wedding hours ago. It was the beginning I was struggling with now.

"You want to write an epic love story and you're not writing about _this_ wedding?" Gabriel said, throwing in a fake gasp. He shot a look at Dean, and the drunken man smiled. "This is like… to quoteth Alesana, _one day lovers will dream of this undying kiss. Not of Romeo or Juliet. Stories told of our love will never die._ You know that song was written about my buddy Dean and my big bro Cas, right?"

I frowned, offering Gabriel a sarcastic, "I was under the impression that was written about _The Princess Bride_ , but…"

The song changed. They had left the music playing in the background and nobody had been paying much attention to it. This song wasn't any different.

"It is kind of true," Michael added. "Dean and Cas, Luke and Sam. If you were ever going for epic, it's at this table."

"I don't know," Castiel said. "That's quite a depressing story if you're going all the way back."

"He has to go all the way back, Cas," Dean said. "Otherwise, this can't be the happy ending. It'd just be a random wedding. Amirite? And let me tell you, I've got a degree in freaking English and no book I've ever read would be as awesome as our story. It's got angst and drugs and prostitution and underground fighting rings and a battle between twin brothers. The story's basically a walking cliché with a happy ending, and books like that never get a happy ending. I'm fucking up for it if you guys are."

"I'm down," Lucifer said, but Sam seemed a little bit hesitant. Gabriel and Balthazar nodded. Michael gave a drunken thumbs up. Rafi smiled. Uriel and Zachariah didn't care either way. They all looked at Castiel.

"Are you sure, Dean? This would open old wounds…"

"Someday, Cas, we're going to die. And maybe the story is found by our kids and they can finally realize the trials that we went through to have them. Or maybe the book makes it big and some kid reads it and decides never to try heroin or to forgive everyone or to not beat up his brother and waste a ton of time and energy hating him... time that he'll never be able to get back. I teach a hundred students a year, but if my story could ever help one of them – a single one of them – to be better than they are, then it's worth it, Cas."

"You're drunk, Dean," Castiel said, but there was a smile on his face.

"Then you better get started now and get as much of the story as you can, cause I'll probably regret it when I sober up in the morning," Dean laughed, and I flipped my page to a new one. "You need to start with this fucking song. My first day of my senior year of high school, this fucking Rihanna song was playing when I woke up. And I only had two things on my mind: wondering if my damn shirt was clean enough to wear to school and what the fuck I was going to get Sammy to eat for breakfast, because we had no money."

I was scribbling the notes in my notebook, but I heard Castiel say, "I like this song."

"It's a tweaking rave song, Cas, of course you like it," Dean said, then he grinned at me. "Are you getting all this, Chuck?"

* * *

There was a knock on the garage door and it snapped me out of my thoughts. I took my hands away from the keyboard, trying to rub out the kinks, smiling at the way Castiel grinned like a madman, jumping from his chair to get the door.

Dean stood too. He made it seem like he was chasing after Castiel to keep him from doing something to annoy Jo, but I knew him well enough to know he was just as excited to see his step-sister as Castiel was.

When Castiel opened the door, Jo elbowed her way inside, grinning at the way the men followed her to the counter where she sat down a twelve-pack of soda next to the one Michael had brought. She leaned against the counter; bringing the slice of pizza Castiel had saved her to her mouth. She had on a plaid sundress dress – as if any of us needed confirmation about how Winchester she actually was – and the material was tight just under her breast, flowing freely over her stomach. "Thank God you saved some for me. I'm starving. And my back is killing me."

"You should have beeped," Castiel frowned at her. "I could have carried the soda in."

"For the last time, Cas, I'm pregnant. Not helpless," Jo grinned at him, nodding down at the bump in her stomach. "And it was soda, not an anvil."

"Yes, but there's no reason to needlessly put stress on yourself."

"Dude, I'm a baby making machine, okay. Don't worry right now, papa. You'll be worrying nonstop for eighteen years in another twenty-two weeks. Let me handle this part," Jo said around mouthfuls. "You know, my mom always used to tell me that I'd have a little Winchester in me someday. I just think she always expected I'd keep it and not give it back to his husband."

"Could be longer," Bela warned. "I went forty-two with Byron."

"Oh, sweet Jesus, no," Jo said, sitting the pizza down to turn to Byron. He was walking up to her, reaching his hand up to put his hand on the girl's belly. She leaned down a bit so he could reach. "You tell your cousin to come out right at forty, okay, Byron?"

"Forty," he repeated. "Then he play with me?"

"Or she," Dean said, leaning over to scoop his nephew up in his arms. "You'll play with her even if she's a girl, right? You'd look out for her."

"Yes, Dean!"

"You don't know yet?" Bela asked.

"We don't want to know," Castiel replied.

"But I know," Jo said in a singsong, picking up her pizza once again. "I had an ultrasound this morning and I know if baby Winchester will be a prince or a princess at birth."

Castiel and Dean looked at each other for one, long moment, and then Castiel asked, "Prince, right?"

"No. Princess," Dean shot back, but Jo just bit into her pizza and ignored their squabbling.

"Oh, that's a really cute shirt, too, Byron," then she turned to Bela. "Congratulations."

"Figured we couldn't let those two get all the baby glory, you know?"

"It was an accident again, right?" Jo asked.

"Happy accident," Balthazar grinned. Jo laughed and sat down at the table.

For a while, they all just talked, finishing up the pizza and soda between the random, easy conversations. At one point, Sam let Bones down, and the puppy had a great time jumping on Inias. The pair of them were already the same size, due to the fact that Bones would be a huge dog. To the cat's credit, he jumped up on a counter and watched as Bones grew tired of waiting for him. Then Inias jumped down, crashing into the puppy. The pair of them wrestled and ran around for a little bit before the dog fell asleep in the sun, and Inias groomed Bones before he fell asleep half on top of him.

Jo had been there for about forty-five minutes when the doorbell rang. Dean frowned – pretty much everyone came through the garage door – but Balthazar was already standing up to get it. Once he disappeared into the living room, Michael's phone started ringing. Lucifer grinned at his brother, "Aw, your ringtone is from my new album?" but Michael ignored him and answered the phone.

Even from the other end of the table, I heard Charlie scream, _"Where the fuck are you? Where the fuck is Dean?"_

"Oh, fuck," Dean said, looking at his watch. "Our LARP was supposed to start five minutes ago."

Balthazar walked back in with a grin on his face and his arm around Kevin. The recent graduate was wearing gray cotton pants and a tunic with a black robe over it, marking him with the brand of the wolf. Charlie had called bullshit when Dean claimed the House Stark sigil as his own. But he let her pick whatever sigil she wanted to steal if she could convince Michael to fly the Lannister lion.

He did, and when Lucifer LARPed with them, he was always on Michael's side, calling him Jaime and making jokes about going off in the woods for a bit. He didn't get it, not even when Lucifer had written "Twins <3 5eva" on the back of one of Michael's flags, and it was hilarious and totally worth it.

Anyway, Kevin looked around at all of us, and Balthazar started rattling off introductions, as Michael held his cell phone away from his ear, trying to calm Charlie down. "Yeah, Kevin's here now. We're all dressed and everything. Just heading over there now. Uh… You're breaking up… on me…"

" _I swear to God, Michael, if you hang up on me…"_

"Oops, disconnected," Michael said before hanging up. He grabbed his keys and nodded to Hester. "We got to get going or she's going to skin us. I knew I was forgetting something today."

In the end, Michael and Hester left to go to get all of Michael's stuff, and Gabriel, Balthazar, Bela, and Byron left to go watch the LARPing. It had started pretty small, but somehow along the way, people grew interested. A bunch of people watched before they ultimately ended up joining.

"Sorry, Kevin. Baby Mama was coming over and completely forgot. Give me ten and I'll drive you back to the park," Dean said, walking toward the stairs. "Sammy, go get your crap on."

"I haven't even showered yet, Dean," Sam called back.

From the second floor, Dean yelled, "Just keep your hair up. It gets in the way of the war-paint anyway."

Sam just groaned, scooped Bones up – much to Inias's annoyance – and looked back at his husband. "Are you coming?"

"Hell yeah I am. Don't tell Dean, but I told Michael that when we're LARPing that he has to call me Cercei. I'm going to make him yell it across the battle ground and Dean is going to lose his shit."

"You don't think it's weird," Castiel asked from where he was sitting next to Jo. "I mean, you flirt with your brother for a cheap joke he doesn't even get."

"Aw, Cassie," Lucifer grinned, leaning over to place a kiss on his younger brother's forehead. "Don't be jealous. Michael was my womb-mate, but me and you have done our fair share of sharing beds, and now that time will forever be immortalized in a subpar work by a MFA student."

"Hey," I said. "I'll have a MFA degree in a couple of months.

"You three coming?" Sam asked.

"I am," Jo said, standing up. Castiel stood with her, but she just shook off his attempt to help. "I always enjoy watching Charlie beating the shit out of Dean with a foam sword. I'll meet you boys there." Lucifer and Sam waved as they walked out the front door, so they could cross the street to get to their house.

But before she could leave, Castiel wrapped her arms around her. Jo schooled her face into an annoyed look, but when Castiel held her tight, her smile broke out. The girl was enjoying the attention, even if she didn't want her stepbrothers to know that. When Castiel pulled back, he leaned over, placing his hand over Jo's stomach and bringing his face down so he was level with the unborn child.

"I love you, my little prince."

"Or princess," Jo reminded him.

"Is she a girl, Jo?" Castiel asked, looking up at his sister. "I don't have a clue how to raise a girl. I only had brothers until I was out of high school. I've never dated a girl. I don't know how they think or how to love them."

"First, I'm not telling you what it is. All I'm saying is that you know that's not true." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him back up so they were hugging again. "You love Rafi and Claire, and you love Kali and Bela and Hester and all of your sisters. You've shown me nothing but love, way before I started carrying a little Winchester for you. You've always had a big heart, Cas, and regardless of the sex of your baby, you will love that little monster to pieces."

"I love him or her now," Castiel admitted.

"See, so don't worry about it being a prince or a princess. Just be glad it's a Winchester," Jo said. And Castiel moved back, kissing her forehead before he allowed her to leave. He watched her drive away from the window like a lost puppy and returned to his seat only once she had driven away from his eyesight.

It was just Castiel, Kevin, and me.

Inias jumped up on the table, purring and pushing his head against Castiel's hand. The man relented and started petting the cat. It was after a few moments of silence that Kevin stepped forward, putting his hands on the back of the chair next to me, looking across the table toward Castiel.

"Mr. Winchester, might I ask you something?"

Castiel looked up at him, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "As much as I love my last name, I've told you before, Kevin. You can call me Cas."

"Um… okay, Cas? Would it be alright with you if I read the story when it was finished?"

Castiel frowned just a bit, his eyes darting to me before looking back at the teenager. Kevin tightened his grip on the chair, looking down to avoid the man's eyes. "It's just… for our portfolio in AP English, we had to write a poem about something that was really hard for us to talk about and Dean wrote about addiction. And I asked him about it, and he said his dad was an alcoholic and when I pointed out the romantic overtones, he broke and told me it was you. And I know this is rude and invasive but…"

"Kevin?" Castiel asked, eyes leaving his face for a moment to look at his white knuckles clenching the chair in front of him. "Would you like a drink? Jo brought some soda…"

"It's only ever been me and my mom. My dad died when I was barely a year old, but she wouldn't talk about him. I didn't even have any pictures of him, and so last year, I dug. He died of a drug overdose. And I can't help but be thankful because look at where I am now. Valedictorian, and I got into my first choice of colleges. But if he hadn't died, what would have happened of me? And I've read _Requiem for a Dream_ and I watched _Trainspotting_ , and none of those stories end well for anyone. My story wouldn't be this good if my dad had lived, and that makes me feel terrible for thinking that. I just want to read a story where everything works out in the end. Everything worked out for you, Cas. You're happily married, you've got a kid on the way, you're about to get your PhD, and you have two masters and two bachelor degrees…"

"Okay, I'm a career student, I know."

"… and I need a happy ending. I need to believe that somehow, if he hadn't died, I could have turned out alright. I have to believe he could have beat it, just like you did," Kevin finished with a breath. Then added, as an afterthought, "And yes, soda would be great."

Castiel stood, calmly walked over to get a can and walked toward the boy to press it into his hands. "I didn't beat it. I still think about it, Kevin. Every day I think about it. Nobody beats it; we live with it. And if it makes you feel better…" Castiel turned to me, "Chuck, would it be okay if you sent him a PDF of the story or something?"

I looked around Castiel toward the boy. "Are you 18 and worried about being scarred for life at semi-explicit scenes between your teacher and his future husband?"

Castiel grew red and Kevin said, "Um…"

"Sure thing, kid. I'll send it to you. It's going to be long as hell though, so thanks for that, Cas."

"You ready, Kevin?" Dean asked as he walked downstairs. He was in his black and gray LARPing uniform, and he frowned at the scene before him, aware something had happened and he missed it. He just looked at Kevin, who nodded and backed away from Castiel, before Dean glanced at his husband. "Not coming, Cas?"

"No. I think I would like a word with our author in private, as it may be my last chance to do so under the pretext of helping him with the book. Have fun, though. Be safe. I hear winter is coming."

Dean grinned, "Winter is always coming." He walked forward, placing his hands on the side of his husbands face and dragging him in for a kiss. It was short, just a farewell, but I shot a look at Kevin hoping that he realized that this was mild for the pair of them. Kevin just gulped. "Later, Cas. I love you."

"I love you, too, Dean," he said and watched as the man nodded to his archer and the two of them took off to slay the bad guys.

And then there were two.

When Castiel sat back down, he started rubbing behind Inias' ears, and the cat purred loudly at the attention. We were quiet for a long moment, and I took a sip of the soda, watching Castiel with the cat. A cat that shouldn't be in the house in the first place because Dean was allergic. I was sitting in a house were Dean would subject himself to copious amounts of Claritin and runny eyes and stuffy noses just to make his husband happy.

And I smiled, remembering that broken boy who had knocked on Dean's porch in the rain, begging for forgiveness and getting turned away. They had come so far. All of them had come so far.

"So this is it?" Castiel asked, angling his face to look up at me. "This is the end?"

"This is it," I said. "Any last words?"

"A few," Castiel said, standing up. He walked around the table, and even when we were both standing, he towered over me. While I was still sitting, he looked like a giant. I stood too, just so I didn't feel quite as threatened. "It was very invasive. It brought me back to a place I never wanted to return to. It always looked so easy for Lucifer, but I was always burdened with the knowledge of what I had done. But you made me relive it – and for what, your need for a story? – and do you remember what you did every time I got upset? You asked me if I was happy now. And I can honestly say the answer to that is yes. This has been more therapeutic for me than… So, yes, I have something I needed to say to you in private."

I put my hand over his shoulder. He looked at me with a small frown, squinting down at me like I was one of the few math problems he couldn't quite solve, and I wavered. I had misread our friendship. I took my hand off of him.

A moment passed, a heartbeat, then Castiel wrapped his arms around me. The room was still and quiet – I could hear the clocks ticking on the wall and see the dust floating in the air in a ray of sunlight bursting through the window – and I could feel his body holding me like I swear I've never been held in my life. It was familial and comforting, loving and strong. It was the way he hugged his brothers, chest to chest, so the feel of the other's beating heart could comfort them. I counted the ticks of the clock – three, four, five – and I lifted my arms, settling them on his back.

"Thank you, Chuck," Castiel whispered, squeezing me tight one final time before letting me go, holding me at arm's length.

"It…" my voice squeaked. I cleared my throat and tried again. "It was my honor, Cas. Thanks for letting me write it." I didn't tell him what I wanted to then. I didn't tell him how it was therapeutic for me too. How, in just a few short months, I had gone from drinking multiple drinks every day to just drinking occasionally with my friends at their parties. I couldn't thank him for how his story helped me.

But Castiel smiled anyway, taking another step back and letting his arms fall back to his sides. The room was still for a moment longer before Inias raised his head at the pair of us and meowed. Castiel chuckled – a nervous, slightly uncomfortable thing in the back of his throat – and turned back to the cat. He ran one hand lazily over the cat's back, and the beast was purring again.

"Oh," Castiel took a few steps backwards, walking toward the living room. "I finished _Please Don't Come Back From The Moon_ , and you were right. It made me think about my father and how we were forced to grow up too fast when he left. Your recommendation was perfect, as always. Hold on a moment; I'll grab the book for you."

I watched him turn and jog up the stairs. Then I turned back to the MacBook.

I had no idea how to end the story. I had had months to think about it, but nothing can ever really prepare an author for that moment. The ending. All I had was the ghost of a whisper – a professor's voice in my ear – reminding me to always end on an image. None of that lofty, crazy thoughtful stuff, but instead an image that would somehow convey all that I wanted to say, depicted through sight alone.

I wouldn't be able to do that. I was too close to back away now. He might fail me on principle just for ignoring the unwritten writer's code.

I saved the document and emailed it to myself. I fished the keys out of my pocket, looking back down at the word document. I had to write all of the notes into sentences, anyway. And I had to drive home… maybe I could think of something on the way. I left without saying goodbye, knowing that Castiel would find the MacBook and an empty chair where I used to be. He would give me my book back later. He always did.

I had to go. It was time to sit down and do the real work.

But even at the end of all of it, it wasn't easy. I sat there, wondering what I could possibly say after all of that to give it the ending it deserved. To make Dean and Castiel, Sam and Lucifer, and all the Novaks, the Winchesters, and all their partners happy with what I created for them.

Instead, I thought about the baby growing in Jo's belly, and I had my answer.

No doubt – endings are hard. But then again, nothing ever really ends. Does it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:
> 
> "Marry Song" by Band of Horses is the song Lucifer and Sam sing in the car at the beginning.
> 
> "Someone Like You" by Adele is the song Castiel is listening to while doing the dishes. ("Since U Been Gone" by Kelly Clarkson is the song that plays after that).
> 
> "Feels Like The First Time" by Foreigner is the song that Dean and Cas first danced to after their engagement.
> 
> "Meds" by Placebo is the alarm reminder for Castiel and Lucifer to take their medication.
> 
> "Song of Songs" is the thing Lucifer is quoting in bed with Sam.
> 
> "The Plagues" from the Prince of Egypt is what Lucifer and Michael were singing. Then all of the Novaks sing "When You Believe" from the same movie after.
> 
> "Come on up to the house" by Sarah Jarosz is the song Lucifer is playing when Crowley gets to the Winchesters' house.
> 
> "Red Sam" by Flyleaf is the song Lucifer quotes in the Church.
> 
> "Today 4 U" from RENT is the song Gabriel does at the bachelor party.
> 
> "Past Lives" by Ke$ha is the song Meg and Cas are dancing too.
> 
> "Glad You Came" by the Wanted is the song playing when Lucifer and Sam are on the hill (same song as last time).
> 
> The four songs Lucifer quotes during his proposal is "Without You" from RENT ("I die without you"), "I am Human" by Brian Buckley Band ("I am human and I will let you down"), "Knockout" by Perma ("It's worth it for a knockout just like you"), and of course, my unofficial Samifer theme song "The Gambler" by fun. ("I swear when I grow up, I won't just buy you a rose. I'll buy the flower shop and you will never be lonely. I will not leave, I will not leave, 'til it's our time. So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side.")
> 
> As mentioned, Gabriel, Claire, and Castiel were playing "Everybody Wants to be a Cat" from the Aristocats at the wedding.
> 
> "So Close" by Calvin Harris is the song Castiel is playing with Phil gives him the present.
> 
> For the last time, when Dean and Cas walk out of the kitchen, the wedding party sings "I Just Had Sex" by the Lonely Island ft Akon.
> 
> When Jess is talking about the proposal, two songs get quoted. By Jess it was "Single Ladies" by Beyonce, and by Cas it was "Your Love" by Nicki Minaj.
> 
> "Home" by Phillip Phillips is the song that Lucifer and Sam and the Novaks sing at the reception.
> 
> "Your Love is My Drug" by Ke$ha is the song Lucifer dedicates to the happy couple.
> 
> "Hold On" by Alabama Shakes is the song playing when Jo says yes to Cas.
> 
> "Stars" by fun. is the song Lucifer is singing while Sam plays with the autotune.
> 
> "As You Wish" by Alesana is the song Gabriel quotes.
> 
> \---
> 
> Thank you for reading. My tumblr is talesfromperdition. The beta is BowtiesAndDeductions. The artist is InnocentCastiel.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] We Found Love (In A Hopeless Place)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2605271) by [maplewix (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/maplewix), [TalesFromPerdition](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesFromPerdition/pseuds/TalesFromPerdition)




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